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THE DOCTOR AND THE PARSON 























THE DOCTOR 

---- AND ■■ -■ 

THE PARSON 


BY 

MARY LOUISE DENNY 



NEW YORK AND WASHINGTON 
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1905 




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MAfi 2y 1905 

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COPYRIGHT, 1905 
BY MARY LOUISE DENNY 



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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

I 

Spying Out the Land, 

• 9 

II 

Good-bye to Alabama, 

• 15 

III 

A Trip Through the Country, . 

. 22 

IV 

First Experience in the New Home, . 

. 44 

V 

Sketches from Nature, 

• 56 

VI 

The Prairie Parson, 

. 64 

VII 

The “ Roundup,^’ 

• 73 

VIII 

Trouble Brewing, 

. 81 

IX 

The “Literary Treat, 

. 87 

X 

Matters Become Serious, .... 

. 92 

XI 

The Confederate Reunion, .... 

. 98 

XII 

The Doctor Doubts, 

. Ill 

XIII 

The Trial, 

. 118 

XIV 

The Verdict, 

. 132 


The Doctor and the Parson 


CHAPTER I 

SPYING OUT THE LAND 

In the spring of 1889 William Morton joined 
a party of prospectors going to the Texas Pan- 
handle. Wonderful reports had reached Birm- 
ingham of the fertile soil and varied resources 
of that country. So Mr. Morton not only was 
hopeful of being benefited in health by that ex- 
hilarating atmosphere, but allowed himself to 
think that, perhaps, a way might be opened by 
which he could retrieve his lost fortune. 

Mr. Morton was a lawyer by profession and 
ranked high. Being an only son of wealthy 
parents, he had been eminently fitted for his life 
work, and the first years of his practice in 
Birmingham had been marked with success. 


10 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Not only had his family enjoyed every comfort, 
but he had a snug little bank account besides. 
But during the great coal fever of 1888, Mr. 
Morton, like scores of others, conceived the 
idea of becoming rich in a day and plunged 
headlong into the sea of speculation, only to 
emerge therefrom a bankrupt. Not only had 
he exhausted his own means, but most of his 
father’s wealth, so he had nowhere to turn for 
help. Constant brooding over his fate brought 
on nervous prostration; then followed a long 
spell of brain fever, from which he barely re- 
covered. Following the high tide of business 
came an awful calm. Men who had scarcely 
had time to sleep now found themselves hope- 
lessly idle. Mr. Morton was weak in body and 
depressed in spirits. At times he would be mel- 
ancholy and painfully reticent, and again he 
would be almost desperate. 

In one of those fits of despair, throwing him- 
self on a couch, he exclaimed : “Surely, Fm a 
man crossed with adversity; surely, I am!” 

“Oh, you thankless fellow ! Turn your clouds 
about and see the silver lining. Count your 
mercies, sir!” said Mrs. Morton. “You surely 
have forgotten how happy you were one year 
ago when the doctors told you I would live. 


Spying Out the Land 


11 


And scarcely one month ago you were lying at 
death’s door. Our babies are well and bright, 
and our little home is left us still. Yes, dear, 
we have much to be thankful for.” 

Louise Morton was one of those rare creat- 
ures who had been gifted by nature with the un- 
selfish art of extracting sweetness from every 
circumstance. And, too, she recognized an 
unseen hand in everything. She regarded trial 
as a chastisement from above, the token of 
a Father’s love. All the graces seemed to 
combine in making her ‘‘altogether lovely.” 
Belonging to one of the oldest and most 
aristocratic families of Birmingham, she had 
been tenderly reared and thoroughly edu- 
cated, and was the center of attraction in cul- 
tured society wherever she was. But it was 
in the home that Mrs. Morton’s loveliness and 
strength of character shone brightest. She was 
a model wife and mother. During the first 
years of her married life, while fortune smiled 
upon them, she had devoted most of her time 
to caring for her little ones and making a happy 
home for her husband. Circumstances now 
were different. She no longer had old Mammy 
Liza, the cook ; Hannah, the housegirl, or even 
Tilly, the nurse. These had all been turned off 
for lack of funds. 


12 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Poor little Mrs. Morton! ’Twas a starting 
over of life to her, but she bravely ‘‘took up the 
harp of life and smote on all the chords with 
might.’' She had had but little experience in 
household affairs, but thanks to her good sense, 
'twas not long before her dainty white hands 
were executing the culinary arts as gracefully 
as if they had been Beethoven’s sonatas or Mo- 
zart’s symphonies. Not once did she indulge 
in “what might have been,” or “what she had 
been used to.” Her greatest ambition was to 
help her husband and make her children happy. 
’Tis a marvel what one little woman can do, 
especially when she has a heart for every fate, 
as Mrs. Morton had. Housekeeper and home- 
keeper, queen of the kitchen and parlor, too, 
and all the time presiding with loving patience 
over her little kindergarten. 

Teddy, the eldest, was half past four; then 
came two-year-old Roy and little May, the 
baby. 

During Mr. Morton’s absence, old Aunt Liza 
insisted on spending the nights with Mrs. Mor- 
ton for “pertexion,” though Teddy, who was a 
real little “Rough Rider,” declared that was by 
no means necessary, as he “could take care of 
Mamma and Brother and Baby Sis.” One 


Spying Out the Land 


13 


evening Aunt Liza came in just as Mrs. Mor- 
ton was beginning to clear away the supper 
dishes. Baby May was laughing and cooing 
in her jumper, which was suspended from the 
kitchen ceiling, so Mamma could care for her 
while attending to her kitchen duties. Teddy 
and Roy were helping Mamma (so they said). 

‘Xawsy y’ mercy ! Why don’t you make them 
chillun get out’n your way, Miss Leesye? I 
couldn’t do nothin’ with them hangin’ on to my 
coattail and pleggin’ me with questions like 
dat.” 

‘‘Let them alone. Aunt Liza. They think 
they are helping Mamma. Don’t you, darl- 
ings ?” 

“I’m Mamma’s man,” said Teddy, and “Me’s 
’mart boy,” chimed in Roy. 

Poor Mrs. Morton was tired, oh, so tired ! and 
when Aunt Liza suggested that she “git out’n 
dat kitchen that “dem little hands didn’t be- 
long in no dishpan, no way,” she was very glad 
to turn over the dishwashing to more exper- 
ienced hands. 

The babies were soon far away in the Land 
of Nod, and Mrs. Morton opened the piano and 
played a Rhapsodie from Liszt, and Mendels- 
sohn’s “Consolation.” The latter always rested 


14 


The Doctor and the Parson 


her, somehow. Then she sang her husband’s 
favorite, ^‘Oh, Promise Me.” Just as she sang 
the last words her husband leaned over and 
kissed her fondly. ‘‘Dear little wife, were you 
thinking of me then ?” 

“Yes, indeed, I was, and wishing you were 
“Home Again,” and here you are right now, 
and looking so well, too.” This all in one 
breath. Her husband’s coming was indeed a 
glad surprise. 

“Yes, I am better, dear, and in better spirits, 
too.” 


CHAPTER II 

GOOD-BYE TO ALABAMA 

Mr. Morton was full of hope and expecta- 
tion. Western Texas holds an indescribable 
charm for every American-born man, whose 
boldest characteristic is love of freedom. The 
broad expanse of prairie land, presenting an 
almost endless view, is indeed suggestive of 
endless scope and liberty. Another thing, Mr. 
Morton realized that being a poor man in a 
Southern city meant more than being a poor 
man on the plains. In Birmingham, surround- 
ed by his wealthy friends, he saw no chance 
to redeem himself. But in the Panhan- 
dle, lands were cheap, and a great boom was 
confidently looked for at Meringo, the little 
town he had visited, on account of the finding 
of vast quantities of copper and bismuth in its 
vicinities. One by one, Mr. Morton unfolded 
his plans to his wife. 


16 


The Doctor and the Parson 


will establish a land office in connection 
with my profession/’ said he ; ^^then we will sell 
our home here, and invest in Panhandle lands, 
which will soon enhance in value and make us 
independent. Don’t you see, Louise darling? 
Why, what’s the matter, dear ?” 

Louise, with her usual unselfishness, had 
succeeded in concealing a feeling of sadness 
which crept over her at the first thought of 
leaving home, but when Mr. Morton suggested 
selling the home, that was more than she could 
bear. Then it was that she gave vent to an 
outburst of tears. To think of exchanging her 
beautiful Southern home, surrounded by a lux- 
uriant growth of palms and rare, beautiful trees 
and flowers, for a rude little house on the 
prairie, with perhaps not so much as a mes- 
quite bush within a stone’s throw ! This was 
the dear old homestead, the place where she had 
spent her happy childhood days. Here it was 
she first met her sweetheart, and here that 
mother and father had given their only child 
away to be a lifelong companion to William 
Morton. Father and mother had long since 
joined the ransomed host above, but had left a 
hallowed influence o’er that place that time 
could not efTace, so far as Louise was concern- 


Good-Bye to Alabama 


17 


ed. ’Twas the dearest spot on earth to her. 
Strange it is, the rapidity with which ideas and 
associations flit through the human mind, 
some leaving a mighty impress, some none at 
all, and all unrevealed to mind number two. 

All these pictures and more besides had 
passed before Mrs. Morton, while her husband 
was entertaining her with tales of bright antic- 
ipation to him.- An outburst of tears was but 
a fitting climax to such a bubbling of thought. 
And yet he could not understand ! Ah, me ! Few 
men are capable of feeling the soft sensibilities 
of every true woman's heart. They do not 
realize that ‘Trifles make perfection and that 
perfection is no trifle." “Moving," as Mr. Mor- 
ton was wont to speak of it, meant more than 
moving to Mrs. Morton. It meant the sever- 
ance of many sacred ties, the giving up of much 
that was dear to her. Her church, that dear 
old ivy-clad building where she had been bap- 
tized in long-robed infancy, and drilled in the 
“shorter catechism," and “brought up" on the 
wholesome sermons of good old Dr. Howe, 
that venerable Presbyterian divine. Twas her 
heart's desire that her own little flock be reared 
under this saintly shepherd. She was almost 
afraid to take her family to where her church 
was really unknown. 


18 


The Doctor and the Parson 


One member of the family has almost been 
forgotten. Several years before, a cousin of 
Mr. Morton had died, leaving an only child, 
Agnes. Her father having died before, she 
was left an orphan, and her guardianship fell to 
Mr. Morton, the only near relative. Agnes 
was a lovely type of the Southern girl, having 
been beautifully trained and educated. She 
had finished school a short time before, and was 
recuperating in the mountains of North Caro- 
lina, her health having given away under the 
strain of the long college course. 

The thought of transplanting this delicate, 
beautiful flower, as it were, to that rough, in- 
compatible soil was repugnant to Mrs. Morton. 
Having all her life been surrounded by refine- 
ment and culture and associated with the 
choicest youth of the land, it seemed almost 
cruel to take her just now to where the ‘^cow- 
boy’^ reigns supreme. However, to all these 
objections Mr. Morton would kindly assure his 
wife that everything would be all right. 

‘^So far as Agnes is concerned,’’ said he, ‘‘it 
will be the very thing for her. She will grow 
strong, and rosy like the prairie girls.” 

Poor Mrs. Morton, try as she might, 
couldn’t become reconciled to what seemed in- 


Good-Bye to Alabama 


19 


evitable fate. But she realized that as ‘^the one 
who bore his name made dear for her sake/’ 
the wife, she should share her husband’s fate 
and join her purpose to his. Yes, duty called 
and she must follow. So then and there she re- 
solved to strive to forget her own loves and de- 
sires, fling despondency away, and to believe 
that all dreams and hopes which seemed lost 
now would some day be fulfilled. 

William Morton was much encouraged by 
his wife’s faithful smile, never dreaming that 
it was forced for his sake. ‘‘We must get off 
as quickly as possible,” said he, “for several 
reasons. Summer is not far off, and the hot 
winds of the prairie are not only exceedingly 
unpleasant, but should we encounter them 
on our trip through the country we might be 
overcome by their terrific heat and fall victims 
to the fever. And, too, we must go ahead of 
the boom, so as to get the advantage of cheap 
lands, etc., and be ready to open up business 
early in the fall. I will advertise our home at 
once and make arrangements for the adjust- 
ment of our property here. You write Agnes 
at once. Inform her of our plans and have her 
come immediately, and we will be off early 
in May.” 


20 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Mrs. Morton hardly knew which way to turn 
at first, in the face of such multifold duties, but 
with her usual level-headedness she mapped out 
her work systematically, and soon preparations 
were moving on smoothly and rapidly. First 
the entire family must be clad suitably for their 
trip. Those dainty little bits of fine fabric and 
lace would never do for Baby May to take a 
trip ‘‘through the country” in. She must have 
more substantial-looking dresses of blue cal- 
ico. Roy must exchange those beautiful white 
kilts for blue checked aprons. And Teddy must 
have a pair of overalls, of course. Mrs. Mor- 
ton, and Agnes, too, must be well equipped 
with sunbonnets and gloves. 

The next three weeks were speht in hurried 
preparations. 

“Well, my dear, just say so and we will have 
sold our home. Will you sign the deed with 
me?” said Mr. Morton, his face all aglow with 
the satisfaction such as one feels when having 
accomplished something much desired. 

“Our friend, Mr. Graves, offers to relieve us 
of the house and furniture. Twenty-five hun- 
dred dollars is the consideration, which is good 
for such dull times. What do you say, wife?” 

It almost breaks my heart,” she said, “but I 


Good-Bye to Alabama 


21 


will, for your sake. Give me the pen.” And 
with trembling hand she signed the name that 
made her home the home of another. 

The days passed swiftly by. Aunt Liza came 
over to assist in the packing, and it was not 
long before all was in readiness for the trip. 
Tears were shed and good-byes said, and the 
Mortons boarded the train which was to bear 
them far away to the West — far away from 
past environments, friendships and ties, to the 
arena of a new life full of expectancy, anticipa- 
tions, doubts and fears. 

The journey was of no special interest other 
than the gradual change of scenery. On the 
third morning they arrived at Vernon, Texas, 
from which place they were to make the re- 
mainder of the journey by private conveyance. 


CHAPTER III 

A TRIP THROUGH THE COUNTRY 

‘‘We must be ready for an early start in the 
morning/’ said Mr. Morton. 

“What o’clock do you call early, Cousin 
Will?” asked Agnes. “Eight or half past, I 
imagine you’ll say. As if we could get our- 
selves and all these babies ready by that time !” 

“Eight, indeed!” said Mr. Morton. “By 
eight o’clock we shall be many miles from here. 
We must be ready by five o’clock sharp. The 
most delightful time to travel in this country 
is very early in the morning.” 

Mrs. Morton, who all her life had been ac- 
customed to late rising, like Agnes, could not 
solve the problem of how she should get herself 
and three children ready to start by five, but 
said she would try. Sure enough, the program 
was carried out to the letter, and when Mr. 
Morton drove up at five next morning a merry 
crowd was awaiting him. 


A Trip through the Country 23 

Agnes was as bright as the morning, and 
looked lovely in her gingham dress, bonnet and 
gloves. The children could hardly restrain 
their glee at the thought of such a long, long 
ride. Even Mrs. Morton seemed to have for- 
gotten that she had left her dear old Southern 
home. 

‘The exhilarating influence of a May morn- 
ing in the Panhandle is something remarkable,'’ 
said Mr. Morton, “and I believe you'll all agree 
with me." 

One by one they tumbled into the great, high 
“hack," and in a moment were speeding over 
the plain. 

“Oh, how beautiful! how lovely!" Agnes 
would exclaim, at every breath. Fresh charms 
seemed to meet her every glance. 

“Oh, dear ! Cousin Will, what are those cun- 
ning little creatures darting around over the 
prairie? — and now they stand still like little 
preachers in their pulpits." 

“We are just entering a prairie-dog village," 
said Mr. Morton. “These little animals, not- 
withstanding their cunning ways, are a source 
of great annoyance to the people of this coun- 
try. They are not only destructive to some 
crops, but are almost ruinous to the land where 


24 


The Doctor and the Parson 


they have their homes, burrowing so deeply and 
so close together as to make the land unfit for 
anything. A large reward has been offered the 
man who can devise the most efficient means of 
getting rid of these little pests. Another ene- 
my to the farmer here is the jack rabbit. Look, 
Teddy, there goes one now!'’ but the fleet little 
animal was out of sight before he could be 
caught by the eye. It was only a moment more, 
however, before another one appeared, then an- 
other and another, until they became quite com- 
mon. The children were much amused at the 
long ears of the jack rabbit. 

^‘How I would love to have a scarf of the 
fur of the beautiful little rogues," said Agnes. 
‘Tt is so soft and pretty." 

The prairie was studded with a thick growth 
of mesquite. Frequently the broad plains were 
interrupted by creeks, which were lined and 
edged with the most luxuriant growth of trees 
and vines. The elm was especially beautiful, 
and seemed almost as majestic here as the oak 
does in the South. 

‘The foliage of the trees here is the most 
beautiful green I've ever seen," said Mrs. Mor- 
ton. 


A Trip through the Country 25 

‘That, perhaps, only seems so because what 
there is is all together and the background is so 
light,’’ said Mr. Morton. “The grass is a very 
light green and the mesquite tree, as you have 
observed, is of much the same shade, and above 
the sky is clear and bright. Right here on the 
bank of this creek will be a nice place for us to 
stop and rest awhile and take dinner.” 

Following Mr. Morton’s suggestions, they 
had provided themselves with no dainty eata- 
bles such as Mrs. Morton had always prepared 
for picnics, et cetera. 

“But,” said he, “let’s rough it! like the 
natives do. Let’s take a great, big coffee pot, 
a frying pan with a long handle, some bacon 
and meal, and Teddy and I will furnish the 
rest of the bill of fare.” 

“I will make the fire now,” said Mr. Mor- 
ton, having selected a shady spot ; “then I will 
bait the hooks, and Teddy and I will take Rover 
and the gun and walk over the hill and kill 
some quail.” 

“No, Cousin Will,” said Agnes; “let me 
make the fire. It is half-past eleven now, 
and if we are going to have quail for dinner it 
is high time you were on the tramp. Besides, 
the horses must be fed and watered. Certainly, 


26 


The Doctor and the Parson 


they deserve fair treatment at least for travel- 
ing so beautifully this morning.’' 

The early start and breezy drive had sharp- 
ened the appetites of all, so Agnes’ suggestion 
was acted upon. She was to make the fire, and 
Mrs. Morton get the dinner, while Mr. Mor- 
ton and Teddy were hunting. Fortunately, 
Mrs. Morton had put in a bag of cookies for the 
children; had she not, they would have been 
very hungry. 

‘‘Roy, can’t you gather sticks for Agnes, 
dear ?” 

“Course me can.” And in a few moments 
the little fellow had a pile of brush and twigs 
almost as high as he was. 

After trying over and over again, pricking 
her tender hands and burning them, too, Agnes 
succeeded at last in making a fire. It is very 
rare, indeed, for the wind in this country to be 
quite calm. There is always enough breeze to 
fan a feeble flame to sleep, or to blow the 
stronger one into a fire, often a destructive one, 
sweeping the prairie before it. 

“Now, Roy, we will run down to a place in 
the creek where the water is clear, and dip up 
some for dinner. Cousin Louise, you have 
baby asleep when we get back, and we’ll be 
ready for the game when it comes.” 


A Trip through the Country 27 

Mrs. Morton was just placing Baby May 
on the pallet to dream of baby pleasures, when 
Mr. Morton and Teddy came up. 

''Just see, Mamma, what weVe killed,’’ said 
the little hunter; ‘'six quail and a duck.” 

“Come, boy, let’s see how many of the little 
‘Annies’ have hung themselves on our hooks,” 
said Mr. Morton. There they were, all in a 
row, and a fish on every hook, but one. 

“Ah, you silly little creatures,” said Mr. Mor- 
ton; “four beautiful silvery perch and two 
catfish just the size to be good.” 

“I have a pot of boiling water, so let’s all go 
quickly to work,” said Mrs. Morton. 

Although it was the first experience of any- 
thing akin to camping to Mrs. Morton, as we 
have seen before, she had the happy faculty of 
adapting herself to every circumstance, which 
is the best test of a true woman. Agnes was 
charmed with the novelty of her surroundings, 
and was an apt pupil. 

Under Mrs. Morton’s supervision the fish 
were soon white and clean, and the quail all 
ready, too. Soon the fish were crackling in the 
lard and were fried a beautiful brown. The 
quail were placed on the glowing coals and 
broiled in a way that would tempt the daintiest 
epicure. 


28 


The Doctor and the Parson 


It is the custom of some women who have al- 
ways had a little more than enough, a very lit- 
tle, though, and perhaps a few cheap jewels and 
laces and a smattering of Latin and French, to 
entertain their friends (should they be so for- 
tunate as to possess some) with one long, 
tedious apology — all because they had been 
used to nothing but music and art and thus and 
so. Pity the poor creatures, for 'Tity true 'tis 
kind y' but pity, too, the music and art of these 
fair creatures! Perhaps they did play the 
‘‘Black Hawk Waltz’’ and “Frolic of the 
Frogs,” and it may be a march or too. Speci- 
mens of their art might be found in those ghost- 
like pictures on the wall. But well it may be re- 
membered that the woman who really has music 
in her soul, or the taste of a true artist, can with 
very little experience broil a quail to perfection, 
and place it on the platter as gracefully as if 
with her brush on the placque. And she can 
serve it as charmingly as she could a Polish 
mazurka. Mrs. Morton was indeed a specimen 
of a true woman. 

A cloth was spread on the ground and the 
eatables, one by one, were placed on the im- 
provised table. 


A Trip through the Country 29 

‘^Oh, dear! Tm so hungry I can scarcely 
wait. Sit down, Cousin Will, and let's have 
dinner," said Agnes. 

Quail and fish, corn bread and coffee — this 
was the dinner. 

‘The most tempting meal I ever had before 
me," declared Mr. Morton. “What a delicious 
flavor the coffee has! Surely it is the real 
Mocha." 

“Just the same as we had at home," replied 
Mrs. Morton. 

“Wait a minute, all," said Agnes, and she 
ran to the hack and drew from under the seat 
a jar of huge cucumber pickles, which she had 
slipped in unobserved. “Girls couldn't live 
without pickles, you know." 

“That's just what we need to make our meal 
complete; thanks, Agnes, to your girlish love," 
said Mr. Morton. 

“Does any one wish this last piece of fish ?" 
asked Mrs. Morton. “If not. I'll eat it. I never 
ate anything half so good." 

“Why, my dear, what's the matter with your 
appetite ? You always ate so little at home. It 
does me good to see you enjoy eating so," said 
Mr. Morton. “Have this last piece of quail 
breast; then we will have licked the platter 
clean." 


30 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘T move, for the sake of good manners and 
health, that we adjourn until supper at least,'’ 
said Agnes; ‘‘but the evidence is here — or 
rather not here now — that we all never enjoyed 
a dinner so much before." 

“Thanks to our Japanese fashion of eating, 
we have no dishes to wash, so our dinner was 
all a pleasure," said Mrs. Morton. 

“What time do you guess it is, Agnes," 
asked Mr. Morton, looking at his watch. 

“One o'clock, I suspect," said Agnes. 

“One o'clock, indeed!" said Mr. Morton. 
“It lacks but a quarter to three. We've tarried 
here too long. 

“It seems incredible that we've been here so 
long; rather, the whole day seems like a de- 
lightful siesta, with nothing but beautiful 
dreams, and all too short indeed," said Agnes. 

Mr. Morton soon drove up and they were on 
the way again. Their first camp-ground was 
just below the hill. When they reached the 
brow all exclaimed at once, “How beautiful !" 
As far as eye could reach stretched a great 
wheatfield. The wind, swaying gently over 
it, caused it to look like a sea of shimmering 
green. Not a break could be seen — every blade 
seemed just the same height. 


A Trip through the Country 31 

‘This must be one of those beautiful wheat- 
fields in the Fourth Reader/’ said Agnes. ‘T 
used to cry with Paul and Mary lost in the 
wheat, but I think ’twould be lovely to be lost 
in such a beautiful place. 

Soon they crossed another creek, more beau- 
tiful, if possible, than the first, and this as well 
as the others was spanned by the most artistic 
little bridge, which with its paint of dark red 
contrasted so beautifully with the rich foliage 
of the trees. 

“These little bridges remind me of those 
that span the Avon River near Stratford,” said 
Mrs. Morton. “Shakespeare might have found 
inspiration for his genius in this land as well 
as his.” 

Farther on another wheatfield, this of the 
golden grain. Reapers were in the field, and 
the harvest had begun. The reaping and bind- 
ing was an interesting sight to the Southern- 
ers, who were more accustomed to “fields of 
cotton” picked by dusky hands. 

Just as they turned the corner Agnes 
screamed and seized Mr. Morton’s arm. “Oh, 
dear! What is that? Look! Look!” 

A great, gaunt animal stalked through the 
wheat and gazed with calm indifference at the 
hack full of frightened people. 


32 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘That is the lobo wolf/' said Mr. Morton. 
“It rarely ever attacks people, but carries off 
sheep and calves, and even grown cattle some- 
times." 

It was now six o'clock. The shades of even- 
ing were beginning to fall, so Mr. Morton 
said they would stop and camp for the night. 
This feature of the trip was especially delight- 
ful to him, but as Mrs. Morton and Agnes had 
never slept out of doors they dreaded it some- 
what. Rest is always sweet, but in this west- 
ern Texas climate in the cool of the evening, 
after riding all day, it is simply delightful. 

Notwithstanding the pleasures of the day, all 
were tired, and the children were tired and 
sleepy, too. After deciding on a place for the 
camp Mr. Morton built a fire, and, taking his 
gun, said: “Come, Teddy, my boy; let's see 
what we can find for supper." 

Mrs. Morton was giving the babies a cold 
supper, so they might go early to bed, for their 
little heads were already beginning to droop. 

Taking a pail on her arm, Agnes stepped 
across to a blackberry thicket to pick some ber- 
ries for supper. Scarcely had she begun when 
a scream of terror was heard. 


A Trip through the Country 33 

‘^Oh, Cousin Will ! Come quick ! Do come 
quick r' 

Mr. Morton had gone but a few yards and 
heard her scream. Dropping his gun, he ran 
to her. ^‘What is it, Agnes? Tell me, quick,’’ 
said he. 

‘‘Oh, some awful something has bitten me!” 
cried she, wringing her hands. 

“Did you see anything?” 

“No. I thrust my hand through the vine to 
pluck that beautiful cluster of berries — oh, they 
were so luscious-looking — and that horrid 
thing struck my finger.” 

Mrs. Morton had by this time arrived on 
the scene. “We must have a physician as soon 
as possible,” said she. “I fear it was a rattle- 
snake.” 

Mr. Morton had feared the same, but had 
refrained from saying so, not to increase Ag- 
nes’ fright. “We are only eight miles from 
town, so I’ll mount one of the horses and go 
just as fast as he can carry me; and in the 
meantime you must bind the finger tightly 
above the wound, to prevent the poison from 
spreading, and have Agnes drink freely of that 
brandy, which I brought for this very pur- 
pose.” So saying, he mounted his horse bare- 
back and in a moment was out of sight. 


34 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Agnes was suffering intensely with her 
finger, and more, perhaps, from fright. She 
and Mrs. Morton returned to their camp, 
where the children were sleeping, except Teddy, 
who was with them, having returned with his 
father. 

‘‘Oh, dear! my finger pains me so. What 
shall I do?’’ said Agnes. 

“Look! The sun is setting, Agnes. Did 
you ever see anything so beautiful ?” 

“Sunset in the West,” said Agnes. “Oh ! if I 
only were an artist and could paint this !” In 
her enthusiastic admiration Agnes almost for- 
got her pain. There was nothing to obstruct a 
full view of his fiery majesty, as he slowly 
descended the horizon in gorgeous magnifi- 
cence. The whole earth and sky seemed to re- 
flect his splendor. Clouds of every color of the 
rainbow, from the most delicate pink to the 
royal purple, banked up around him. The 
broad wheatfield which stretched out before 
the travelers looked like a sea of molten gold. 
Peering through the trees, which caught up the 
light, like torches, he cast a ray upon the clear 
creek water, which made it look like dancing 
crystal. On he went to the opposite bank, 
throwing a gentle, radiant glow upon the face 


A Trip through the Country 35 

of sweet Baby May as she slumbered on her 
pallet, as if to close this glorious scene with 
the painting of an angel’s face. 

Mr. Morton had not gone more than a mile 
when he saw a buggy going in an opposite 
direction and on another road. Thinking that 
this person could perhaps direct him to a physi- 
cian nearer than town, Mr. Morton spurred 
his horse and almost flew across the prairie. 
His rapid gait attracted the attention of the 
traveler, who stopped and waited until Mr. 
Morton rode up. 

‘"Good-evening,” said the stranger. 

“Good-evening, sir. Can you direct me to 
a physician nearer than at Meringo?” asked 
Mr. Morton. “If so. I’ll be greatly obliged. 
My family are camping about one mile east of 
here, and my cousin has been bitten by a rat- 
tler, I very much fear.” 

“I am Dr. Wilson, and at your service, sir. 
Go ahead and direct the way, and I’ll follow.” 

They both sped over the smooth road almost 
like the wind, and in a few moments came in 
sight of the camp. 

“I think I see some one coming very rapidly 
this way,” said Agnes, placing her hand to her 
brow and straining her eyes to see. “Yes, 


36 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Cousin Lou, I’m sure I do. Just come here 
and look.” 

‘‘You are right, Agnes; I see quite distinctly 
a man riding horseback, and a buggy behind, 
both coming quite rapidly toward us.” 

“And here we are all alone, and night com- 
ing on. Oh, Fm so afraid !” cried Agnes, ner- 
vously. 

“But, Agnes, be quiet, child. This will never 
do. We must be brave, come what may. 
Besides, have you forgotten the promise in last 
Sunday’s lesson, ‘As the mountains are round 
about Jerusalem’ ? Lift your heart to Him in 
prayer and you need no longer fear.” 

“We’re not afraid, are we, Mamma?” said 
brave little Teddy. “God will take care of us; 
won’t He?” 

“Yes, darling. He will.” 

In spite of her efforts to pray, Agnes could 
not. The words seemed to go no higher than 
her head, and, instead of that peaceful trust 
which Mrs. Morton felt, visions of a conflict 
with Billj Dalton and his gang of desperadoes 
came up constantly before her. 

“Mamma! Oh, Mamma! I do believe the 
man on horseback is Papa,” cried Teddy. 
“Come here and see.” 


A Trip through the Country 


37 


Going to where the little fellow was stand- 
ing on a stump, Mrs. Morton could see the 
travelers quite clearly. ^^Yes, it is he,’’ she 
said. ‘‘Run, tell Agnes, for the poor girl is 
almost wild with fright.” 

In a very few moments Mr. Morton rode up 
to the camp, followed by the stranger. As he 
alighted from his horse, a tall, handsome man, 
of perhaps thirty-five years, stepped from the 
vehicle. His bearing was especially striking, 
indicating none other than a high-bred gen- 
tleman. They walked up together, Mrs. Mor- 
ton advancing to meet them. 

“Mrs. Morton, my wife, let me introduce to 
you our friend. Dr. Wilson. And this is Miss 
Agnes Scott, my cousin. Dr. Wilson. She is 
your patient, sir.” 

Agnes never looked lovelier than at that mo- 
ment, half sitting, half reclining against the 
trunk of a huge elm tree. Her beautiful, deli- 
cate features, somewhat pallid now, stood out 
in bold relief against the gnarled and mossy 
trunk, and when she raised her hazel eyes, 
shaded by long, drooping lashes, the doctor 
was forcibly reminded of the wood nymphs of 
old, those beautiful, graceful creatures. 


38 


The Doctor and the Parson 


^‘You’ve had quite a painful experience, I 
presume, Miss Scott Let me see the wound, 
please/' 

Carefully and tenderly he removed the band- 
age and cord which bound her finger. It was 
the third finger of the left hand. The finger 
was swelling some, yet not so rapidly as they 
had feared. 

“Do you think it was one of those horrid 
rattlesnakes. Doctor?" asked Agnes, already 
drawn by his tenderness. 

“No, Miss Scott; Fm very glad indeed to tell 
you that it is not. Rather, I think it is the 
bite of a tarantula. The bite, of course, is 
painful, but not nearly so poisonous as that 
of a rattlesnake, and will readily yield to treat- 
ment. Please remove your ring, Miss Scott, 
as the finger may swell more and the ring is in 
the way of the treatment." 

On her graduation day the diamond engage- 
ment ring of her dead mother had been placed 
on Agnes' finger. Not since then had it been 
removed, and it was with some reluctance that 
she now removed it and slipped it into Mrs. 
Morton's hand. 

“Now, Mrs. Morton, you will please bathe 
the finger freely with this solution while I pre- 


A Trip through the Country 39 

pare an ointment.’" So saying, Dr. Wilson pro- 
ceeded to compound the remedy. 

The pain of Agnes’ finger soon yielded either 
to the influence of the treatment or the benign 
presence of the doctor. One would rather sus- 
pect the latter, as Agnes seemed to rest easy 
after the doctor prescribed, even before the 
treatment was applied. 

*T’m on my way to see a patient,” said Dr. 
Wilson, ‘‘and must hurry on. I’ll stop on my 
return, early in the morning, to see how your 
finger is doing. Miss Scott. Keep up the ap- 
plications every three hours, and I apprehend 
no further trouble for you.” And the Doctor 
drove off. 

“By what strange luck did you find the Doc- 
tor so soon, William?” asked Mrs. Morton. 

“Yes, Cousin Will, do tell us how he was 
so happily intercepted.” 

“Well, as I was on my way to town, only a 
mile distant from here I noticed a buggy com- 
ing this way, but on a different road. Think- 
ing perhaps the occupant could tell me of a 
physician nearer, I rode across and met him, 
and, to my great surprise and joy, found in 
him a practitioner of medicine. He seems 
every whit a gentleman, and if I’m not very 
much mistaken is an honor to his profession.” 


40 


The Doctor and the Parson 


'Tndeed, I think like you/’ said Mrs. Mor- 
ton. impressed me as being a real man. 

Not only has he a handsome face, but a frank, 
open countenance. Oftentimes the countenance 
is an index to a man’s mind and heart, and if 
so in this instance, it would be a noble revela- 
tion, I think.” 

‘‘How did you like the Doctor, Agnes ?” said 
Mr. Morton. 

“Oh, I think he is lovely; he was so gentle 
and kind. I know he must be nice in his 
home.” 

Mr. Morton, divining in this last remark 
only the delicate way of a girl to ascertain 
whether the doctor had a home, replied though 
in a very nonchalant way : “The Doctor is a 
very promising young physician. He gradu- 
ated with honor at one of our finest institu- 
tions about a year ago, and, as I learned when 
out here before, is a most successful practi- 
tioner, as well as a fine man. He seems to pre- 
fer single blessedness, rarely ever being seen 
in young ladies’ company.” 

To avoid arousing any suspicion of having 
read Agnes’ thoughts, Mr. Morton cast his 
eyes around slowly through space before en- 
countering hSers, but he could scarcely keep 


A Trip through the Country 41 

back a smile as he noticed the beautiful pink 
that tinged Agnes’ cheek. . ‘‘Well, it is time to 
have supper and go to sleep,” said he. 

The evening meal of “quail on toast” and 
coffee was soon over, and preparations for the 
night’s lodging began. It was decided that the 
big hack be converted into a bed for Mrs. Mor- 
ton, Agnes and the babies, and Mr. Morton and 
Teddy would sleep on the ground with the 
earth for their pillow. 

“Oh, Cousin Will, you’ll be bitten by some 
horrid creeping thing. Please don’t,” said 
Agnes. 

But Mr. Morton assured her that sleeping 
on the ground was a real pleasure to him, so 
they all lay down to rest, if not to sleep. Just 
as darkness had fallen around, Agnes sat up 
in her birth and exclaimed in a terrified tone : 
“Listen! What is that?” A sound, or many 
sounds, as of the barking of forty terriers, rang 
out on the night air. 

“Only coyotes barking, Agnes — just a little 
animal that can do nothing but bark. Go to 
sleep now. You are nervous.” Scarcely had 
Mr. Morton settled himself for another nap 
when far in the distance sounded the dismal 
“Whow-oo-oo-oo-oo-wow,” and Agnes scream- 


42 


The Doctor and the Parson 


ed for Cousin Will again. Mrs. Morton felt 
as if she might be near the region of ^^Sleepy 
Hollow/' 

But the howling of wolves died away in the 
distance, and the weary travelers yielded at 
last to ‘‘tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy 
sleep.” 

They were awakened early by the singing 
of birds over their heads, for they had pitched 
their tent in a beautiful grove. Mr. Morton 
had told Dr. Wilson that if he should be late 
coming that way they would not wait, as all 
were growing eager for the journey to end. 
So, at seven A. M. the Mortons started on the 
ten-mile drive which would bring them to their 
new home, Meringo. Ten miles is only a pleas- 
ant ride on the plains. A magnificent view 
appeared from the crest of the hill, not far 
from their camp-ground. Broad areas of roll- 
ing prairie could be seen stretching many miles 
away, and Meringo loomed up quite distinctly 
in the distance. The horses, seeming to real- 
ize that their journey was nearing the end, 
traveled swiftly. Agnes almost forgot the ac- 
cident of the preceding day, the ride was so 
delightful, and Mrs. Morton declared she never 
felt so well, and that she would be willing to 


A Trip through the Country 


43 


give up her old home to feel so well all the 
time. Mr. Morton was almost as healthy as he 
ever was and buoyant in spirits. 

A little more than an hour’s drive brought 
the party to the edge of Meringo. This little 
town, yet in its infancy, nestles snugly at the 
foot of a long range of hills which lie almost 
unbroken to the north and west, seemingly a 
fortress against the cold north winds. These 
hills, rising to almost mountain height, are 
covered with immense bronze-colored boulders, 
with tufts of grass and shrubs between. Cat- 
tle graze above, below, on the sides, every- 
where, making these little mountains pictur- 
esque indeed. Far away to the west runs a 
branch of the Big Wichita, a beautiful, wind- 
ing stream, whose banks are lined with luxuri- 
ant green. To the south stretch broad acres 
of pasture land, with herds of beautiful cattle 
roaming over the grassy green. Variety of 
landscape adds much to the beauty of this, as 
well as other Western towns. All were de- 
lighted with the scene before them. A few 
moments more found them at the door of a 
little five-room cottage, and all were glad 
enough to stop, notwithstanding the pleasures 
of the past two days. 


CHAPTER IV 

FIRST EXPERIENCE IN THE NEW HOME. 

The household goods had been sent ahead 
in wagons, and everything had been piled in 
the rooms helter-skelter, presenting a scene by 
no means tempting to the tired travelers. 
However, Mr. Morton was fortunate enough 
to procure the services of an old sailor, 

whose roving disposition and propensity to 
drink would allow him to pursue no higher 
vocation than that of housecleaning, putting 
down carpets, polishing stoves, etc. He had, 
however, become almost indispensable to the 
ladies of Meringo, where ‘^girls’’ are very 
scarce. Jack was to put down the carpets 
while the others unpacked and arranged the 
furniture preparatory to housekeeping. About 
four o’clock in the afternoon, when all were 
too busy to draw a good breath, a gentle rap 
was heard at the door. Mrs. Morton opened 


First Experience in the New Home 45 

the door, and to her utter dismay there stood 
an elegantly-dressed woman of immense pro- 
portions. 

am Mrs. Broxel,” said the caller, ‘'and I 
guess you are Mis’ Morton ; ain’t you ?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Morton. “Come in, Mrs. 
Broxel. I’m glad to meet you.” 

“The same to you,” rejoined Mrs. Broxel, 
in a very dignified tone. Mrs. Morton ushered 
her caller into the disorderly room, making 
way for her by pushing boxes, trunks, etc., to 
one side. Finding a seat for her, at last, in a 
remote corner of the room, she seated herself 
on an unopened barrel in an opposite corner 
and proceeded to be entertained by her visitor. 

“I aimed to come over this morning,” said 
Mrs. Broxel, “but this is wash day. I guess 
you seen our clothes hanging out. We shore 
got them pretty and white; they just look good 
enough to eat.” One would never have judged 
from the richness of her attire, from her black 
silk dress and white kid gloves to her patent 
leather shoes, that Mrs. Broxel had spent all 
day over the washtub. 

“Are you one of my neighbors?” asked Mrs. 
Morton. 

“Your very nearest one,” replied Mrs. 
Broxel. “Only a fence between.” 


46 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘‘Ah, indeed! Is your husband one of our 
business men?'’ asked Mrs. Morton. 

“He is the leading saloonkeeper of our 
town," replied Mrs. Broxel, proudly. 

The thought of living “next door" to a sa- 
loonkeeper was almost sickening to Mrs. Mor- 
ton, but she was in the West now and must act 
accordingly, so she tried to be as pleasant as 
possible during the remainder of the call. 

On leaving, Mrs. Broxel said, in a kind, fa- 
miliar way: “Well, good-bye. You must come 
over." 

Mrs. Morton had not finished relating to Mr. 
Morton and Agnes her first experience with 
her neighbor, when a loud knock was heard at 
the kitchen door. Hurrying to the door, Mrs. 
Morton was confronted by her caller of a few 
minutes before, who had not waited for a 
“Come in," but already stood inside. “I just 
come in," she said. 

Mrs. Morton finally gasped, “That's all right, 
Mrs. Broxel," though she really felt abashed 
at such early familiarity. A complete trans- 
formation had taken place in her neighbor in 
this short time. Clad in a loose mother hub- 
bard, which, from the size of the grease spots. 


First Experience in the New Home 47 

was evidently not a part of the morning's 
wash, Mrs. Broxel looked a typical washer- 
woman indeed. 

‘1 just come over to borrow a few molasses," 
said she. ‘‘There ain't but just a few sticking 
to the sides of the bucket, and Dee (that's my 
husband) is so fond of them." 

“I have no molasses, Mrs. Broxel, but I'll 
give you some of our Alabama syrup." Call- 
ing Mr. Morton from his work to assist her, 
for the jug had not yet been opened, Mrs. Mor- 
ton drew a pitcher full of delicious maple syrup 
and handed it to Mrs. Broxel. 

“I'm a thousand times obliged. You must 
come over," she said, and slammed the door. 

By the time they had finished accommodat- 
ing their neighbor, it was late supper time. 

“I wish they would stay at home, at least 
until we can breathe comfortably," said Agnes. 
“The absurd idea of borrowing before we un- 
pack !" 

“Never mind, Agnes; Mrs. Broxel is a good- 
hearted woman. We must be kind, you know." 

Supper over, the tired children were put in 
their little beds to sleep their first sleep in their 
new home, and Mr. and Mrs. Morton and 
Agnes drew their chairs out on the porch to 


48 


The Doctor and the Parson 


rest awhile in the moonlight. While they were 
discussing the beautiful night, the delightful 
breeze, etc., some one drove up to the gate and 
said, ‘^Good evening,’’ 

‘‘Good evening,” answered Mr. Morton. 

“I’ve been detained all day and am just get- 
ting in from the country.” 

“Oh, it is Doctor Wilson; isn’t it?” said Mrs. 
Morton. “Won’t you come in. Doctor?” 

“No, ma’am, I thank you,” replied the Doc- 
tor. “I came by to see how Miss Scott’s finger 
is doing.” 

“Very well, thank you. Doctor Wilson. 
There’s no pain at all in the finger now, only 
a little soreness,” said Agnes. 

“Won’t you come in and sit awhile. Doc- 
tor?” said Mr. Morton. 

“Oh, no, not this evening, thank you. I’m 
sure you are all fatigued, and need quiet and 
rest; but I’ll be pleased to call some other 
time.” A pity ’tis, indeed, that every one can- 
not possess the penetration of human nature 
sufficiently to enable him to do the right thing 
at the right time. This is intuitive, however, 
and a result of good breeding and refinement. 
The Mortons appreciated Doctor Wilson’s 
thoughtfulness very much, and declared that 


First Experience in the New Home 49 

when they had become settled and ^^at home,” 
they would enjoy having him. 

Early the next morning, just when day was 
breaking and long before the Mortons thought 
of stirring, a succession of loud, rapid knocks 
was heard at the back door. Mr. Morton, 
thinking perhaps there was a fire in the neigh- 
borhood, rushed into his attire^ — some of it 
wrong-side-out — and hurried to the door, pull- 
ing on his suspenders as he went. 

‘‘How d’ye do, Mr. Morton! I ’low that’s 
who yer are,” said the red and freckled-faced 
miss who stood in the door. 

“Yes. Good-morning, ma’am,” said Mr. 
Morton. 

“I’m July Gantt. My maw died five yare 
ago, and I’ve been living with my sister ever 
since. She’s shoure good to me, too, and — ” 

“Mr. Morton cleared his throat impatiently, 
standing first on one foot, then on the other; 
but he was the very pink of courtesy. “Can I 
do anything for you. Miss Gantt?” said he. 
He was beginning to fear that she would com- 
plete her family history, and as he had donned 
only shirt and trousers and they hung loosely 
together, he was anxious to complete his toilet. 

“I’ve came to see if I can borrow a few more 
of those molasses and a piece of ‘bakin’ for 


50 


The Doctor and the Parson 


breakfast/' she said. ‘‘And I might take a 
few eggs, too," glancing at the basket of eggs 
which was on the table. 

Mr. Morton knew they had no bacon, but 
they had brought a box of deliciously cured 
hams. Aunt Liza's own curing, so he said: 
“Have a seat, ma’am, and I will wait on you, 
as the ladies are not yet up." So saying, he 
began to slice off the pink, juicy ham, which, 
by the way, he had first to unpack. Then he 
drew a pitcher full of the maple syrup, which 
July remarked was the best “stuff" she ever 
tasted, and, filling a paper sack with eggs, 
handed them to the girl. 

“Ever so much obleeged," said she. 

“You must come over and see my brother- 
in-law.” 

“Thank you," said Mr. Morton, and closed 
the door almost with a slam, for Mr. Morton 
didn't relish in the least being roused at this 
early hour to furnish the neighbors’ breakfast. 

By this time Mrs. Morton had dressed and 
had come to his assistance. She could hear 
footsteps and voices in the kitchen, but couldn't 
imagine what it meant. “What in the world 
is the matter, William?" said she, entering the 
kitchen, 


First Experience in the New Home 51 

‘‘Those neighbors of ours, the Broxels, are 
real nuisances,’’ said he, vehemently. “They 
actually sent over for more syrup, bacon and 
eggs for breakfast. Now, isn’t that too 
much?” 

“Poor things! They don’t know any bet- 
ter,” said Mrs. Morton. 

“Well, if they don’t, they should be taught 
better. Such familiarity when they haven’t 
known us twenty-four hours is disgusting. 
Next time they come I shall show them the 
way to town,” said he, almost angrily. 

“Be patient, William ; be patient. These peo- 
ple have not been so blessed in birth and edu- 
cation as we have. Probably they never heard 
of Shakespeare’s injunction, ‘Neither a bor- 
rower nor lender be.’ This is their way of 
showing themselves friendly. Free and easy 
is one of the characteristics of this country, 
you know, so we must show ourselves friendly 
if we would make friends. These people are 
good-hearted, if uncultured, and by example 
we can correct these little breaches of propriety 
without being unkind. We must ‘learn the lux- 
ury of doing good,’ my dear.” 

Mrs. Broxel was the leader of her circle in 
society. She was the literary star, and prided 


52 


The Doctor and the Parson 


herself in being exceedingly proper in every 
way. No doubt she would have been aston- 
ished to hear her neighbors pitying her ignor- 
ance. There were some highly cultured fami- 
lies from the North and the South in town, 
but they made no effort to figure in ^‘society.’’ 
There is also in most of the Panhandle towns 
a Western element, exceedingly rough and un- 
couth, and without fear of man or God in their 
hearts. The Sabbath is their day for hunting 
and fishing, and God’s Word is utterly un- 
known to them except in the profanation of it. 
But there is another element, constituting the 
majority of the residents of this country, who 
are intelligent, ambitious and energetic men, 
big-hearted and true. 

While Mrs. Morton was busily engaged in 
clearing away the breakfast dishes and arrang- 
ing her kitchen furniture, Teddy came running 
in, saying : ‘'Mamma, there’s a man at the gate 
with something to sell. He looks just like Rob- 
inson Crusoe; come quick!” 

Mrs. Morton hurried to the door and out to 
the wagon to see what the old man had. Sure 
enough, he was a striking likeness of “poor old 
Robinson Crusoe.” His tall, gaunt figure was 
clad in a suit of extremely ill-fitting, worn-out 


First Experience in the New Home 53 

clothes, and his long, shaggy beard and hair 
looked as if they hadn't in many days, if ever, 
seen a comb. 

‘'Good-day, ma'am," said he, lifting his 
ragged fur cap as gracefully as if it had been 
a new one of the latest shape. “My name is 
Bussy. I've been peddling in these parts for 
going on twenty yare, come this July." 

“What have you to sell?" asked Mrs. Mor- 
ton. 

“Well, ma'am, I've got some powerful nice 
butter I'd like to git shed of." And Mr. Bussy 
drew out of the wagon an immense dishpan- 
ful heaped up with butter, beautifully molded 
in pineapples. Taking one of the pounds in 
his great, claw-like hands, he said : “Yes, this 
here is fine butter. My wife taken pains to 
make it pretty." 

Just here his mouth could no longer contain 
the tobacco juice, which had been leaking out 
for some time, so the old man let it go, and 
Mrs. Morton was quite sure that the butter 
received a goodly portion of it. 

“Have you some eggs?" asked Mrs. Mor- 
ton. She knew the old man's claws would 
not have access to the inner side. 

“Yes, ma'am; fine fresh ones, too." 


54 


The Doctor and the Parson 


So Mrs. Morton ran into the house and sent 
Teddy back with a basket and the money for 
the eggs, thus ending her interview with ‘‘Old 
Man Bussy.” 

Mrs. Morton had callers galore for the next 
two weeks, and of course all the young ladies 
of the town called to meet Agnes. Even sev- 
eral young men had “paid their respects’" to 
her already. 

“Cousin Lou, I can never feel at home among 
some of these people,” said Agnes. “They use 
such horrid English and are so green I can’t 
keep from laughing when I’m with them. Did 
you hear Mrs. Long say this morning that her 
daughter ‘taken music lessons six months and 
was a fine musician ?’ Ha ! ha ! I don’t under- 
stand how you enjoy being with people so far 
your inferiors. You chat and laugh with them 
as if you really enjoyed being in their com- 
pany.” 

“Oh, yes, Agnes ; I do enjoy being with good 
people, even if they are unlettered. If you 
wish to do good and have friends you must 
consent to be taught a great many things you 
already know. Indeed, I have culled golden 
opinions from all sorts of people.” 


First Experience in the New Home 55 

^‘But, Cousin Lou, you always speak of do- 
ing good. That seems to be your dominant 
motive in everything. How can you do these 
people good? They are not cognizant of the 
fact that you are their superior in every way. 
You appear to place them on a par with your- 
self, so that they do not notice the difference.'’ 

‘‘Oh, no, Agnes; you mistake me there. 
Don't forget that ‘the mission of genius' 
(though I do not claim genius for myself) is to 
purify, uplift, etc., and I think no one wise who 
insults ignorance or boasts of his own erudition. 
The good I can do is by radiation and reflection. 
And, too, my child, we are both professing 
Christians. Do you remember that some of 
our Saviour's nearest and dearest friends were 
only poor fishermen? If He could stoop from 
His exalted Highness to do good, surely we 


CHAPTER V 

SKETCHES FROM NATURE 

Doctor Wilson called frequently on his pa- 
tient, but his interest seemed now to be not so 
much in the finger as in Miss Agnes. Doctor 
Wilson was a Virginian, and, like so many 
others, had sought this country on account 
of its climatic advantages. Although much 
pleased with the country and its people, yet at 
times he experienced a feeling of loneliness and 
even homesickness. He longed for some of 
his own kith and kin. He and the Mortons 
recognized in each other congenial spirits, per- 
haps, when first they met, and many pleasant 
evenings were spent together, talking of their 
old Southern homes. Agnes’ musical rendi- 
tions were rare treats, indeed, to the doctor, as 
he had heard nothing more classic than ‘The 
Campbells Are Coming,” or “After the Ball Is 
Over” for many days. Those beautiful rhap- 
sodies and charming fantasies, together with 
Mrs. Morton’s bird-like trills, carried him back 
to his college days. 


Sketches from Nature 


57 


One evening when there was just enough 
breeze to make driving delightful Agnes was 
comfortably reclining among the pillows on 
the couch, reading. Lifting her eyes, she no- 
ticed a little light phaeton drawn by the dapple 
gray, which she had come to know as far as 
she could see him. Already she was in a flut- 
ter, and was herself surprised at the little thrill 
of pleasure that ran over her as the Doctor 
drove up to the gate. Mrs. Morton and the 
children were taking their usual afternoon 
naps, and as they kept no domestic it fell to 
her to meet the Doctor. 

‘‘May I have the pleasure of your company 
to a rabbit drive this afternoon?’’ said he, 
standing in the doorway. 

“Yes; thank you. I’ll be delighted to go,” 
said Agnes. “At what hour shall I be ready?” 
for Agnes thought she must dress more appro- 
priately for the occasion. She had just donned 
a simple little blue Empire dress, which was 
charmingly becoming, so the doctor thought. 

“Why not now?” asked he, smiling, for he 
had surmised her thought. “It is now two 
o’clock, and an hour’s drive will bring us to the 
grounds barely in time.” 


58 'I'he Doctor and the Parson 

Remembering that she was in the land of the 
free, and thinking it would be in better taste 
to go in this simple attire than to keep her 
friend waiting, Agnes snatched up her big sun- 
hat, which lay on the table, drew on her gaunt- 
lets, and went tripping out to the buggy, the 
very picture of beauty and grace. 

‘‘IVe always wished to see a rabbit drive,’’ 
said she, after they had started. ‘‘But what is 
the object of the drives? Are they merely for 
sport ?” 

“Oh, no,” said Doctor Wilson. “The rab- 
bits are so numerous and so destructive that it 
is necessary to lessen the number in some way.” 

“What a lovely country this is. Every day 
adds new charms for me,” said Agnes. “In- 
deed, I think this climate surpasses any I’ve 
ever been in. That alone is a great attraction 
in this country, if it had no other advantages.” 

“Yes, indeed; I agree with you that such a 
climate is extremely rare,” said the Doctor. “I 
came here for my health, and I’m a new man 
almost. It is true I might find a more lucrative 
practice elsewhere, but health is always prefer- 
able to wealth, you know.” 

“One thing I’ve been especially delighted 
with,” said Agnes, “is the great variety and 


Sketches from Nature 


59 


rare beauty of the wild flowers. Just see! As 
far as eye can reach looks like a massive bou- 
quet.’^ Daisies, like a million little suns, shone 
all around them. The yellow cowslip and pale 
primrose bloomed cheerfully all along the gay 
meadow-land. Even violets, white and purple, 
peeped out from behind the rocks, as if eager 
to stay with their later companions just a little 
longer. Red, white and blue, crimson, purple 
and scarlet, in every shape, sprang up every- 
where. Delicate trailing vines, with the dainti- 
est little blossoms of pink and white, twined 
themselves among and around the others, some- 
times climbing to the tops of the tallest and 
falling gracefully over. 

‘‘What an opportunity for the botany stu- 
dent ! I think I shall bring my herbarium out 
some day and gather some specimens,’' said 
Agnes. 

“Allow me the pleasure of assisting you, will 
you not?” said the Doctor. 

“Why, certainly. It would be doubly pleas- 
ant to go botanizing with you,” replied Agnes. 

“The study of flowers was always a favorite 
one with me,” said Doctor Wilson. “They are 
types of our brightest hopes and sweetest loves, 
and the profusion with which they are scat- 


60 


The Doctor and the Parson 


tered about everywhere, even in solitary places, 
makes them fragrant gems of the earth, beauti- 
ful ministers of purest thought. But here we 
are! Now, did you ever behold a more mag- 
nificent view than this?’' They stopped just 
on the brow of the hill. 

‘‘Look across to the western horizon, Miss 
Agnes.” 

“Oh, what beautiful city is that before us,” 
cried she rapturously. Magnificent domes, 
stately towers and grand old mansions loomed 
up in the distance. A stream of crystal water 
wound around the city. Majestic oaks and 
graceful willows stood along its brink, and all 
apparently not five miles away. 

“Tell me. Doctor. I didn’t know we lived 
near such a beautiful city.” 

“’Tis only an optical illusion. Miss Agnes; 
one of Nature’s common treats in this coun- 
try.” 

“It is certainly wonderful,” said Agnes. 
“Often I have read of them, but even our pro- 
fessor in physics could never make me under- 
stand, and I’m so happy to have actually wit- 
nessed a mirage.” 

The whole scene was grand, beyond expres- 
sion. Before, behind, at the sides, everywhere. 


Sketches from Nature 


61 


were the flowers that had accompanied them 
all the way, and back against the western sky 
the mirage stood, as scenery prepared espec- 
ially for this occasion. Just at the base of the 
hill was an immense triangle of wire netting, 
stretching full three thousand feet one side and 
twenty-eight hundred the other over the grassy 
green. Right at the apex of this triangular 
trap, just where the angle should be, was a very 
narrow chute, leading into a small circular pen. 
Here it was that the jack rabbits would end 
their race for life and meet their final doom. 
Spectators thronged the outer sides of the lines, 
as well as the overlooking hill, some standing, 
some sitting and others remaining in their bug- 
gies. Dwell on the beauty of the scene. The 
mirage, a beautiful city, in the back ground. 
"'Cattle grazing on a thousand hills,’’ or, rather, 
thousands of cattle on the hills to the right and 
left. A bright blue sky above, and beneath 
all a broad expanse of greensward, bedecked 
with earth’s fairest jewels. 

The drive had begun. Scores of horsemen 
could be seen dashing wildly to and fro, in and 
out among the hills, and through the mesquite, 
with the frightened little animals fleeing be- 
fore them. The long ears of the jack rabbits 


62 


The Doctor and the Parson 


turn back, so they can catch the first sounds 
of approaching danger, and they always run 
before a horse. On they come toward the 
crowd, hotly pursued by the cowboys on their 
light-footed broncos, popping their quirts and 
each whooping at the top of his voice. The 
scene was wildly exciting. Shouts of triumph 
split the air as the long-eared animals, fright- 
ened almost to death, rushed into the embrace 
of the great triangle. 

‘'Guard the line, boys! Round up quick!’’ 
yelled the captain, swinging his great sombrero. 
In a flash the entrance was blocked with two 
dozen or more horsemen, while the others 
rushed the rabbits into the chute, yelling 
fiercely: “Trap the little thieving rascals! 
Catch them, boys, and brain them, too !” Three 
drives were made, and one hundred and ten 
less jack rabbits scampered over the plains. 
But these, thanks be to happy fate, didn’t meet 
death at the hands of men and clubs, as many 
of their comrades had, but were caught, after 
a wild scramble, and shipped to a neighboring 
city park. 

Agnes was wild with delight. “I’m so glad,” 
said she, “that the poor little innocents were 
not clubbed to death ; but I would love to have 
a scarf of jack rabbit fun” 


Sketches from Nature 


63 


^^And you shall have one as a memento of 
this drive/' replied the Doctor. 

Ere this the mirage had faded from view. 
The play was over, and ‘"night dropped her 
sable curtain and pinned it with a star." One 
by one the spectators hurried home in the 
moonlight. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE PRAIRIE PARSON. 

He was the queerest little hunch-backed man 
in the world. Indeed, it was hard to believe 
that the process of evolution was ever quite 
complete in Brother Kuchenbacher, he so re- 
sembled a monkey ; and his absent-mindedness, 
which was a source of great amusement to the 
young folks, was quite in accord with his whole 
make-up. But a better-hearted, better man 
never lived than the little old Prairie Parson. 
And he was a power for good in the West for 
many miles around, notwithstanding his eccen- 
tricities. Having lived a bachelor for fifty 
years or more. Brother Kuchenbacher con- 
cluded that ‘‘it was not good for man to live 
alone,’’ so he led to the altar a sprightly maiden 
of some fifty summers, and quite as comely as 
he. The marriage took place on Friday, June 
twentieth, 1891. In answer to the protests of 


The Prairie Parson 


65 


his friends against the solemnization of such 
an important event on so ominous a day, he 
said : ‘‘Yes, so let it be, for Our Lord was cru- 
cified on Friday.’’ 

Although Mrs. Morton was a “blue-stock- 
ing” Presbyterian, she was liberal to all creeds, 
and her home was ever open to ministers cf 
every denomination. Brother Kuchenbacher 
was a hard-shell Baptist, a real, old “foot- 
washer,” but he was a frequent visitor at the 
Morton home, and was always treated royally, 
for, as Mrs. Morton would say to her husband, 
who complained of his being such a bore, “To 
even the least of these, my dear, and we have 
done it even so to Him.” 

It was almost bedtime, the Saturday night 
before his next appointment at Meringo, when 
Brother Kuchenbacher rode up to the gate on 
his poor old worn-out horse. He had started in 
ample time to have reached Meringo before 
dark, but, as was often the case, in a mood of 
abstraction he had gone eight miles on the 
wrong road, and had to go back that far. 

“Come right in. Brother Kuchenbacher,” 
said Mrs. Morton, who never mistook his 
“Whoa!” which sounded much like a broken 
calliope. “Come right in, I say. Mr. Morton 


66 


The Doctor and the Parson 


will take your horse, as Fm sure you are very 
tired. How did you leave the home folks 

“The Lord is still merciful and gracious,'’ 
drawled the preacher. “And how goes the 
world with you, dear sister?" 

“All well, thank you," replied Mrs. Morton. 

“That's good; praise the Lord," croaked he. 

“Have a seat now, and I'll have your supper 
in a minute," said Mrs. Morton. 

“Oh, now, good sister; I don't like to put 
the Lord's people to so much trouble. A little 
coffee and bread will do me." 

“Very well. I'll soon have your coffee hot, 
and it's not one bit of trouble," replied Mrs. 
Morton. 

Just as Mrs. Morton was ready to pour the 
coffee. Brother Kuchenbacher came hopping to 
the kitchen door — he always hopped on account 
of some physical defect — and said : ‘‘Say, Sister 
Morton, you might fry me a couple of eggs, 
and Tm very fond of cornbread for supper, but 
never mind anything more, unless it's a little 
grits and gravy." 

“All right," replied Mrs. Morton, as cheerily 
as possible. “Poor fellow," said she to her- 
self, “his bill of fare shall be carried out to 
the letter. It may be he doesn't have a square 
meal often." 


The Prairie Parson 


67 


Brother Kuchenbacher stood in the kitchen 
door and watched, with avidity, the eggs fry- 
ing. At ten o’clock precisely Mrs. Morton sat 
down to the table to serve the Parson’s supper. 
He had been seated at the table fully fifteen 
minutes when all was ready. It would have 
done any one good to see the old man eat. Mrs. 
Morton felt repaid for all her trouble, though 
she feared they would be aroused from their 
slumbers by the unearthly yells of Brother 
Kuchenbacher when attacked by nightmare. 
She was especially uneasy when he called for 
the fourth cup of coffee ‘"straight.” 

Sabbath morning dawned clear and bright. 
The Sabbath in Mrs. Morton’s home was a day 
of rest, indeed. All day Saturday was spent 
in preparations. The house was thoroughly 
cleaned. Light bread, cakes and pies were 
baked and set away as if for a solemn feast. 
A ham was boiled and the coffee ground, so 
there was no fire in Mrs. Morton’s kitchen 
from Saturday till Monday. The coffee she 
made on the little oil stove. The afternoon was 
spent in bathing, mending, teaching the chil- 
dren the catechism, etc., and after they had 
gone to sleep on their “golden texts” the tired 
mother found sweet rest in spiritual thought, 


68 


The Doctor and the Parson 


the soul’s preparation for the morrow. The 
children all repeated at the breakfast table, ‘‘Re- 
member the Sabbath Day,” and they kept it as 
holy as children could. Mrs. Morton took great 
pains not to make the Sabbath irksome to them. 
Really they looked forward with delight to the 
Bible stories, “Pearls for the Little Ones,” and 
little letters Mamma would read them. 

As the little ones filed into the breakfast table 
next morning Brother Kuchenbacher asked, in 
tones distressingly discordant: “Sister, are all 
these children your’n?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Mrs. Morton. 

“Praise the Lord,” said the Parson. 

“Have you much to encourage you in your 
church work. Brother Kuchenbacher?” asked 
Mrs. Morton. 

“Well, sister,” said he, “that’s a hard ques- 
tion to answer. The Lord’s visitations are 
mighty scarce in these parts, but when He does 
come He comes with power. We Baptists have 
grand old times at revival meetin’s.” And the 
old man almost shouted while he talked. “You 
Prissbyteerins have a mighty pore show up 
here.” 

The hard-shell Parson expressed the religious 
sentiment of the country correctly enough. As 


The Prairie Parson 


69 


is too frequently the case, not only in Western 
towns, but in old, old towns, every-day religion 
is a rare thing indeed. These great summer 
revivals go on for weeks. People ‘^git religion'' 
and ‘‘git happy," perhaps, for the twentieth 
time in their lives, only to lapse into a state of 
utter religious oblivion by the “Fourth," much 
to the distress of the good old church members. 
For, noth withstanding the above deplorable 
fact, there are some saintly Christians in this 
Western wild, and they are like the foliage of 
the trees, so rare that they shine with double 
luster. 

Although Mrs. Morton could hardly endorse 
some of the erratic views of good old Brother 
Kuchenbacher, still, for the sake of example, 
she felt it her duty to encourage by her pres- 
ence divine service of any kind. , Already her 
influence over her neighbors was phenomenal. 
They almost worshipped her, and by her “kindly 
light" were unconsciously being led higher. 
They were becoming intelligent, more moral 
and religious. The Sabbath was all quiet along 
her street today, while three months before it 
had been general reception day. Mrs. Morton 
was not a woman of many words, but it was 
“the every day of life" in her that worked so 
beautifully. 


70 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Brother Kuchenbacher's Sabbath evening 
discourse was taken from the text, ‘‘Ye are the 
salt of the earth,” but it was treated in the 
same loosely jointed manner that characterized 
the physical and mental make-up of the Par- 
son, so that no one could see the slightest bear- 
ing on the subject. It was nothing more than 
the relating of unhappy experiences, inter- 
spersed with numerous ejaculations, such as 
“Bless your soul, sister!” and “Praise the 
Lord, my brother !” The “sermon” would stop 
short frequently and the preacher would start 
up, without a moment’s warning, “Roll, Jor- 
dan, Roll,” or “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks I 
Stand,” then resume his discourse as vocifer- 
ously as before. By the time he had painted 
his last death-bed scene and the “home in 
glory” several of the good old members were 
“getting happy,” and in the midst of mingled 
sobs and shouts of glory a clear but cracked 
voice sang out, quite distinctly : 

If you get there before I do, 

Tell them I am coming too.’* 

Agnes could scarcely conceal her merriment, 
but one glance from Mrs. Morton told her she 
must. Doctor Wilson, who was sitting with 


The Prairie Parson 


71 


Agnes, seemed disgusted, but the good, old 
hard-shells seemed refreshed, and Mrs. Morton 
heard more than one pronounce the ^‘sermon’' 
fine. 

‘'Well, an old philosopher said we might find 
‘sermons in stones and good in everything,’ 
and maybe he was right,” soliloquized Mrs. 
Morton. 

Stopping on the step to speak to a friend, 
Mrs. Morton had not noticed that every one had 
gone but Brother Kuchenbacher, and he was 
in a sad dilemma. He had mounted his poor, 
decrepit old steed face toward the tail. The 
animal would snort, jump forward, then back- 
ward, then high in the air, seeming utterly at a 
loss to know what kind of a motion to make. 
The Parson, after urging the poor beast on 
with his accustomed endearing expressions, 
proceeded to punch him unmercifully in the 
ribs with his little club feet (for the old man 
was club-footed, too). All at once he discov- 
ered that his horse was headless ; then he broke 
into mild ejaculations concerning “them mean 
youngsters.” 

“While I was in there preaching Christ and 
Him crucified, them poor sinners were out here 
murdering my poor horse! Lord, pity them, 
too!” 


72 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Mrs. Morton, hearing his loud talking, 
stepped up to see if she could be of any as- 
sistance to Brother Kuchenbacher. ‘‘What in 
the world is the matter. Brother Kuchen- 
bacher said she. 

“The Lord have mercy on them poor horse- 
murderers,” said he, pointing to the horse's 
tail. 

“Why, Brother Kuchenbacher, they have 
simply turned your saddle. Don't you see?” 

“Oh, yes. Ah-huh. Well, praise the Lord !” 
The poor old man didn't realize that he and 
not the horse had lost his head, but the mis- 
chievous boys were not far off, watching the 
proceedings. Pardon their pranks on the poor 
old absent-minded Parson. 


CHAPTER VII 

THE ""roundup"" 

Doctor Wilson’s interest in Agnes grew 
daily. Indeed, she seemed to have flooded his 
life with sunshine. With her, the hours flew ; 
without her, they dragged heavily. Life in the 
West had completely changed the Doctor. In 
his boyhood days he had been especially fond 
of social life, but not finding much congeniality 
among the Western youths and maidens, he 
had devoted his whole life to his profession and 
had become indifferent to the society of young 
people. Frequent converse with the Morton 
family had awakened a longing for old-time 
pleasures, and the fondness for companionship, 
so common to the young, came back to him al- 
most from the hour when first he met Agnes. 
Although Agnes may have been guilty of that 
pretty little sin of artful artlessness, like many 
of our girls, still she was simply herself after 


74 


The Doctor and the Parson 


all; so bright and winning, always ready for 
fun and quick at repartee, yet so sweet and pure 
and strong. She was not a dashing beauty, as 
many of our heroines are, but strangers were 
always attracted by the rare sweetness of her 
face. Her wavy brown hair fell in ringlets 
around a marble-like brow. Her complexion 
was a little too pale, perhaps, but that seemed 
only to emphasize the expression of her hazel 
eyes, which spoke in silent eloquence, innate 
refinement and sweet, girlish innocence. Mrs. 
Broxel, who was ever ready to adopt any little 
new social phrase, said her beauty was ‘‘spirit- 
uelle.’’ But, indeed, that bewitching little rip- 
pling laugh and those merry dimples which 
played almost constantly, exploded the theory 
of spirituelle beauty. 

Agnes’ influence over the Doctor had been 
good. In his early days he had been a pro- 
fessed Christian and a dutiful church member, 
but away from home and church influences he 
had become indifferent. He was drifting. The 
influence of those quiet Sabbath afternoons and 
beautiful sacred songs in the Morton home had 
caused him to reflect, and Mrs. Morton’s 
wholesome influence and timely talks had led 
him to better thoughts and actions. Even 


The “Roundup’ 


75 


Brother Kuchenbacher's flighty discourses and 
illiterate phrases were not so boring as before. 

^‘Miss Agnes, how would you like to go to 
a 'roundup?’ asked the Doctor, just before 
leaving after an evening call. 

"Why, I supposed it was too late in the 
season for roundups,” replied she. "But, of 
course, Fd be delighted to go.” 

"The roundups are late this year on account 
of the backward spring. This one is about ten 
miles from here, on the 'Bar-X’ ranch.” 

By five o’clock next morning they were 
speeding along the smooth prairie road. Agnes 
was full of expectancy and vivid imagination 
of the roundup, but the Doctor was more de- 
lighted with the thought of a long tete a tete 
with his fair Southern girl than of seeing those 
rough sunburned cowboys and their wild per- 
formances. All along the way Agnes dis- 
played an almost childish delight in the beauties 
of nature, yet with it all maintaining a quiet 
dignity which caused her admirer almost to 
worship her. Just before they crossed the 
bridge, Agnes’ attention was attracted by a 
hideous little creature, whether animal or in- 
sect she could not tell. Its black, flat, velvety 
body, about the size of a small saucer, stalk- 


76 


The Doctor and the Parson 


ing along on its eight legs, looked much like 
a miniature table walking. 

‘‘Oh! what horrid creature is that, Doctor 
Wilson?'’ cried she. 

“That is a tarantula,” said Doctor Wilson, 
smiling a little and eyeing her closely. Men- 
tion of the name recalled the bitten finger, and 
the thought of such an unsightly creature be- 
ing the miscreant made cold chills run over 
her. 

“Now, Cousin Lou says that everything was 
created for some good purpose,” said Agnes. 
“I wonder what mission she would have these 
ugly creatures perform?” 

“Do you know,” said Doctor Wilson, “that 
the happiest incident of my life is due to one 
of these creatures? Ever since then I've had 
a tender spot in my heart for the tarantula.” 

Notwithstanding the rosy tinge that would 
come and go on Agnes' cheeks, she with beau- 
tiful art concealed consciousness of the Doc- 
tor's remark, and said, in a very nonchalant 
way: “Well, it didn't bring happiness to me; 
indeed, the first real pain I ever felt was when 
that ‘something,' I knew not what, seized my 
finger. But listen ! What do I hear ?” 

The shouts and yells of the cowboys told 


The “Roundup’ 


77 


them they were not far distant from the scene 
of the ‘Woundup/’ and in just two hours from 
the time they left home they reached the Bar- 
X ranch, so-called from the brand of the pro- 
prietor, which was a bar and X. Already the 
boys were encircling the pasture and starting 
the grazing herd from their quiet nooks and 
corners toward the center. It was impossible, 
just at this stage, to determine the number of 
cowboys engaged in this roundup. Later on, 
however, the Doctor said there could be no 
less than seventy-five or eighty. From the re- 
mote confines of the pasture the cattle were 
driven rapidly to an open plateau near the cen- 
ter. It was indeed a novel and interesting 
sight to Agnes, and the Doctor enjoyed the 
more seeing her enjoyment. The whooping 
and yelling of the cowboys, the constant bel- 
lowing of cattle and the clattering hoofs of the 
‘‘cow ponies’’ as they sped over the ground in 
pursuit of refractory cattle, together with the 
gradual converging of thousands of cattle of 
all sizes from all points of the compass to one 
common center, constituted a stirring scene to 
even the old-timer. 

At length the cattle were collected on the 
plateau in a circle, not more than one thousand 


78 


The Doctor and the Parson 


yards in diameter. Then came the difficult and 
laborious task of ‘^cutting out” strays from 
among the proprietor’s cattle. Watch the 
cowboy start in pursuit of a stray. See how 
quick his well-trained pony is to descry the 
animal wanted. Swiftly he follows him among 
and around the herd, until at last he separates 
from the others. 

*‘The sagacity of the mustang pony is won- 
derful,” said Agnes. 

Now and then some obstreperous old steer 
would become unmanageable. Then the cow- 
boy would bring his lasso into play. Catching 
the animal by a forefoot, he would throw him 
heavily to the ground and hold him there until 
submissive. Another instance in which the 
‘‘cow ponies” display great sense is in the rop- 
ing contests. The instant his rider lets fly the 
coiled lasso, although running at break-neck 
speed, the pony braces himself for the impend- 
ing shock. The rope is fastened to the horn of 
the saddle, and the entire weight of the fallen 
steer pulls on the pony, which stands in a rigid, 
stooping attitude, his feet firmly planted in the 
ground. 

On their return to Meringo, Agnes was des- 
tined to add another bit of knowledge to her 


The “Roundup’ 


79 


already right good stock of cattle lore. They 
were riding leisurely along, when all at once a 
sound as of distant thunder fell upon their ears. 
It was constant, and seemed to be approaching. 

‘‘Oh, what shall we do if we are caught by 
a Storm so far away from home cried Agnes, 
in a terrified tone. 

But in a moment they heard the din of noisy 
cattle and the wild “halloos’’ of men. Doctor 
Wilson knew at once that it was a herd of stam- 
peding cattle. Driving from the road to an 
elevation which overlooked the plains for miles 
around, they came in full view of the fright- 
ened cattle. By this time, however, the herds- 
man had them about under control. This he 
had accomplished by riding in front and start- 
ing them in a circular motion. Round and 
round they go until they are diverted from 
their fright. 

“This, in cowboy language, is called ‘mill- 
ing cattle,’ ” said Doctor Wilson. “Now, have 
you seen enough of cattle for one day?” 

“Yes, indeed, I think I have, though it has 
all been so interesting to me, and I thank you 
very much for so kindly initiating me into so 
many of the pleasant phases of Western life,” 
replied Agnes. 


80 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘^And I thank you, Miss Agnes, for the ex- 
quisite pleasure your company affords me. 
The world has changed around me since the 
hour — yes, the very hour — I met you. Yes, I 
have a tender feeling for the cruel little crea- 
ture that brought about our meeting.’' 

“How cruel. Doctor Wilson, for you to like 
anything that would cause me so much pain.” 

“Even then I would have willingly suffered 
the pain for you,” said the Doctor tenderly. 
“But ‘All’s well that ends well,’ and may I not 
hope that, if not already, I may some day pos- 
sess the love of my patient? I would yield a 
thousand claims to nourish your love, dear 
Agnes.” 

Agnes acted her pretty little falsehood of 
surprise at the Doctor’s declaration. 

“When woman loves and will not show it, 
What can her lover do? 

She knows she loves him, and he knows — 
Why not, then, to him disclose it?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


TROUBLE BREWING 

In the town of Meringo there lived a man 
who claimed to be a physician. In truth he 
held a diploma from some third-class school 
of medicine. The want of proficiency in his 
profession was not the only objection to Doctor 
Tate among the better class in town and in the 
adjoining county. It was generally believed 
that Doctor Tate was a man of very little char- 
acter and that he would not hesitate to resort 
to questionable means to effect his purposes. 
There were two drug stores in town, Doctor 
Wilson being the owner of one, and Jim Haw- 
kins, associate proprietor of the ‘‘Cowboy's Sa- 
loon," the other. A physician's office in a drug 
store being essential to its success. Doctor Tate 
was readily granted a place in Hawkins' store, 
and as a natural consequence received his sup- 
port and influence. If would be as natural for 
oil and water to mix as for two such characters 


82 


The Doctor and the Parson 


as Doctor Wilson and Doctor Tate to frater- 
nize. Doctor Tate was the only physician in 
Meringo up to the time of Doctor Wilson's ar- 
rival, and the speedy popularity of the new doc- 
tor, together with his professional skill and 
acquirements, excited a feeling of jealousy and 
animosity in Doctor Tate. The bad element 
which existed in this, as well as all other West- 
ern towns, was strong indeed, the good being 
barely in the majority. This bad crowd, led 
by Hawkins, were friends and supporters of 
Doctor Tate, made so and held so by the wire- 
working manipulations and unscrupulous 
schemings of Doctor Tate and Hawkins com- 
bined. The best and most intelligent people 
were adherents and friends of Doctor Wilson. 
The causes which led to the estrangement of the 
two professionals tended to widen the breach as 
time winged its rapid flight. Gossip, the “com- 
mon cud of human cattle," was never idle. 
Indeed, there are always busy-bodies who 
deem it their mission in life not to graciously 
sprinkle oil upon troubled waters, but rather 
to agitate the already too turbulent tide of hu- 
man feelings. Back and forth they go with 
their sweet morsels of tales, much exaggerated 
if not of wholly manufactured origin, until the 
whole is a seething mass. 


Trouble Brewing 


83 


*'Yes, Agnes, dear, love is the sweetest thing 
in the world, but next to the sweetest thing is 
hate,’' said Doctor Wilson after one of their 
long heart-to-heart talks one evening. 

‘‘Ah, but. Doctor, you should not deem it 
sweet. You should not cherish such venom. 
It is a hurtful worm, which will canker the 
noblest impulses of the soul. It is bitter sweet, 
indeed.” 

“But, Agnes, I have wronged no one. I 
have tried to do my duty well. I have a still 
and quiet conscience. And must I cherish 
these hearts that hate me?” Just then Mrs. 
Morton stepped into the room for a book. 

“You are just the one we want. We need 
your advice just here,” said Doctor Wilson. 
“What should be the attitude of one who is a 
victim to the malice of people toward whom 
he has never borne ill-will and whom he has not 
wronged in any way ? Do you think it should 
be love versus hate?” 

“Yes, Doctor Wilson. We should pity them 
to love’s degree. Do you remember who said, 
‘Love your enemies — pray for them that de- 
spitefully use you’ ? Surely we are not better 
than He. Baseness never wins more than 
honor — ” 


84 


The Doctor and the Parson 


"The Doctor is wanted at the drug store/’ 
said Mr. Morton, coming to the door. So with 
a hasty good-night he was gone. 

A rap at the door a few minutes later an- 
nounced Mrs. Broxel. ""Fve just came over 
to sit till bedtime,” said she in the most dig- 
nified but pleasant tone. ""Dee is out late of 
nights, and July has gone to a sociable, so Baby 
and I were all alone. Baby, can’t you speak 
to Mr. Morton?” Baby was a rather over- 
grown specimen of seven or eight years, and 
altogether her pinched, gaunt features, freckled 
face and straight, sandy hair presented a most 
uncanny appearance, though she really meant 
no harm. She was the apple of her mother’s 
eye and her father’s idol. They thought she 
was a rare beauty. Mrs. Broxel called atten- 
tion to the fact that they had just had Baby’s 
crossed eye straightened, and she thought her 
eyes were ""so sweet” now ; but Agnes was won- 
dering how they must have looked before the 
operation. 

""You have four babies, haven’t you, Mrs. 
Morton?” asked Mrs. Broxel, glancing with 
almost pitying eye around on the bright-eyed 
darlings. 

‘"Yes, and not one to spare,” replied Mrs. 
Morton. ""You have only the one?” 


Trouble Brewing 


85 


^‘Yes; just Dee and Baby and me/’ said she, 
proudly. ‘‘Bless Mamma’s Baby,” said she, 
embracing and fondling the ugly little child. 

Just then came three sharp reports of pistol 
shots fired in rapid succession. Bang! bang! 
bang! The whole company sprang to their 
feet at once and ran out on the porch to learn, 
if possible, what had happened, for pistol re- 
ports were by no means common in this quiet 
little town. Mr. Morton seized his hat and 
hastened to town, which was only a few blocks 
distant. 

“I’ll be bound it’s some of that Tate-Haw- 
kins crowd. I tell Dee it’s an ’onery set, and 
I wish he’d let them alone,” said Mrs. Broxel, 
wringing her hands, for well she realized that 
her darling Dee was a member of that “onery” 
element. 

At the mention of the Hawkins crowd, 
Agnes grew faint. “What if that sweet hate 
has gained control and he has had revenge!” 
thought she, “or what if he has been the vic- 
tim of the other hate ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear !” 
The moments of the next half hour were almost 
agonizing to Agnes, but she modestly concealed 
her feelings, as true love always does. Although 
not the first to speak, she was the first to hear 
Mr. Morton’s returning footsteps, and the first 
to hear the news. 


86 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘'Well, Agnes, you’ve saved the Doctor’s 
life,” said Mr. Morton. Even that was a re- 
lief to know that he was alive. 

“But how ? When ?” said she. 

“Well, he had just finished writing a pre- 
scription and was standing under the chande- 
lier reading the paper, which had just come in, 
the mail being late, when a bullet from an un- 
seen hand came whizzing by, then another and 
another. The last struck in the direction of 
its aim, the Doctor’s heart. Yes, it struck him. 
It penetrated a little leather case of instruments, 
but went on and stopped somewhere before it 
reached the goal. ‘Thank God,’ the Doctor 
said. ‘What has saved me ?’ Drawing out the 
contents of his inner pocket one by one, he 
came at last to the button you gave him. The 
bullet lodged in the gold; but Agnes smiled a 
sweet benediction on the other side. Pressing 
the button to his lips, he kissed it fervently, 
and in his excitement, forgetting the crowd 
that thronged around him, he exclaimed: 
‘Yes, love is the sweetest thing in the world, 
and next to the sweetest thing is hate!’ and 
his eyes flashed angrily.” 


CHAPTER IX 

THE ""literary TREAT"" 

The summer, with its roundups, camp-meet- 
ings, school exhibitions. Fourth of July cele- 
brations and hot winds, was drawing to a close. 
Mr. Morton, being a man of affable manners 
and pleasing address, and a fine ""mixer,’’ had 
made many friends, and won an enviable repu- 
tation as a lawyer. Indeed, he was a man of 
sterling qualities both of head and heart, and 
was destined to far eclipse his former self. The 
summer had been a delightful one to Mrs. 
Morton, ""a whole big lapful of life,” she said. 
The very atmosphere around her had changed. 
Friends and neighbors had been interpene- 
trated with that wholesome light which beamed 
so constantly from her soul’s bright rays, and 
the reflection was one to be proud of. 

""Cousin Lou, how is it that you can be so 
helpful in this world, and I can’t?” asked Ag- 


nes. 


88 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘‘The privilege of helping, my dear, is always 
ours, if we but knew it. If at the cost of self- 
denial or under pressure, it is better. Every 
genuine endeavor to break the bonds of our 
selfish nature, helps the soul onward and up- 
ward.’" 

Just at this juncture Mr. Morton came in 
and threw into Mrs. Morton’s lap an envelope 
addressed to “Hon. W. C. Morton and fam- 
ily.” This contained an invitation to a “Rare 
Literary Treat” under the auspices of the 
Glenwood Association, for the benefit of the 
Cemetery Fund. A card with “Compliments 
of Mrs. D. W. Broxel” was enclosed. 

“Of course, we must go,” said Mrs. Morton. 
“Mrs. Broxel will be hurt if we don’t.” 

The Doctor and Agnes were there, on the 
very front seat, and there was scarcely room 
to breathe for the crowd. The opening chorus, 
“Pollywog,” was rendered by the “Seven 
Stars” of Meringo, in a way that would do 
credit to a pool of frogs. Next was announced 
a recitation by Miss July Gantt, “Curfew Shall 
Not Ring Tonight.” The agonizing shrieks 
and wild gestures of the young lady were al- 
most frightful, though she was evidently as 
perfectly composed as when she came over to 


The “Literary Treat” 89 

borrow few molasses.” Eight or ten pa- 
thetic recitations, among them '‘The Polish 
Boy” and "Mona’s Waters,” rendered by the 
sixteen-year-old belles of Meringo, followed 
without intermission. A part of the audience 
was spellbound. Agnes whispered to Doctor 
Wilson, "ril have hysterics if there are many 
more,” but, happily for her, the next number 
announced was "Uncle Dan’s Apparition.” 
Notwithstanding its staleness, there was an 
opportunity to indulge her risibles, which had 
suffered for the past two hours. Next came a 
serio-comic selection, "Don’t Go, Tommy.” 
Truly the pleadings of the poor old mother and 
father were heart-rending, but the stubborn 
indifference of the awkward boy in jean pants, 
all in pantomime, was comical in the extreme. 
Agnes and Doctor Wilson laughed heartily, 
but were surprised to see half the audience in 
tears. 

Doctor Wilson had devoted much of his time 
in college to the study of oratory, and had thor- 
oughly mastered it. The above program hav- 
ing been completed, he was called on for a 
recitation, and was about to decline, when 
Agnes whispered, "Go.” For her sake he 
walked to the rostrum, without knowing what 


90 


The Doctor and the Parson 


he would render, and, facing the audience, be- 
gan in deep, sonorous tones, ‘The Raven/’ 
His rendition was grand. Poor Edgar Allen 
Poe ! Little did he think the story of his lost 
Lenore, his lost reason, perhaps, would ever 
be the subject of mirth, but at each solemn 
“Nevermore” a roar of laughter came from a 
large part of the crowd. The Doctor, dis- 
gusted, was about to give up, when he caught 
Agnes’ eye, which told him to “Go on.” He 
then determined to reach their untutored minds. 
And he did succeed in frightening them “near- 
ly to death,” if nothing more. 

On the way to the entertainment no allusion 
had been made to the Doctor’s narrow escape 
the night before, but on their return home Doc- 
tor Wilson said: “Well, Agnes, dear, what 
think you now of my enemies? Would you 
have me love them ? Had it not been for that 
precious little medallion I would have been a 
dead man tonight, and had it not been for the 
love I bore for you, my dear, I might have 
been guilty of homicide ere this. Yes, it was in 
my heart to search for my would-be assassin, 
and have vengeance before daylight.” 

“Well, Doctor, I am very thankful that your 
life was spared, and still more thankful that 


The “Literary Treat' 


91 


you did not allow yourself to be implicated in 
so dastardly a crime as that of taking a man’s 
life. Had you known that it was a direct at- 
tempt at your life, and could you have seen 
just from what hand the bullet came, even then 
it should have been carried to the court of jus- 
tice. But such a rash act without any evidence 
at all but a man’s imagination, would have been 
dreadful. And I hope that something stronger 
than love for me will ever prevent you from 
such rashness.” 

The people in the town and the surrounding 
country were much incensed at what really 
seemed an attempt to assassinate the Doctor. 
It was generally believed that it was done by 
some of the Hawkins-Tate crowd. Even Doc- 
tor Tate himself was suspected, but there was 
not sufficient evidence to prove it, so every one 
kept quiet. 


CHAPTER X 


MATTERS BECOME SERIOUS 

Poor old Grandpa Bussy, who was ‘‘going 
down sundown’’ when last we saw him, had 
passed “through the western gate of death” 
and was now “resting under the shade of the 
trees.” His mantle had fallen on his faithful 
better-half, who now not only had to make the 
butter and mold it into pineapples, but had to 
“git shed” of it, too. Every week, rain or 
shine. Grandma Bussy was on the way to 
town with her wagon load of produce by day- 
light; often before, for with her good old dog 
Tray she never felt afraid of anything. Grand- 
ma was an odd-looking specimen of humanity 
in her quaint, old-fashioned clothes and her lit- 
tle old black straw bonnet on the back of her 
head, it mattered not how warm the sun was 
shining or how cold the wind was blowing. 
Although she had almost reached her seven- 


Matters Become Serious 


93 


tieth birthday and notwithstanding her gray 
hair, with her youthful face and her little, lithe 
figure she could easily have passed for fifty. 
Her store of butter and eggs never failed, and 
her garden, in spite of the hot winds, always 
seemed to thrive. It was a refreshing sight, in- 
deed, to the ladies of Meringo, who often found 
it difficult to supply their table temptingly, to 
see Grandma driving slowly down the street — 
she never indulged in even a trot — almost bur- 
ied beneath turnips and lettuce, onions and rad- 
ishes, pumpkins and other garden truck. 

She never tried to sell, but all tried to buy. 
‘‘I believe if you would bring mesquite roots to 
sell we would buy them and think them good,’^ 
said Mrs. Morton to her one day. Grandma 
laughed heartily. She was always bright and 
cheerful. She always saw the silver lining, 
however dark the cloud might be. It was a 
real treat to even see this little business woman, 
who never had time for more than a word or 
two while serving her customers. Grand- 
ma’s memory was something remarkable. She 
carried the mail back and forth for her neigh- 
bors, transacted business of all kinds for them 
and had her little accounts with customers, yet 
she never kept a book. But Grandma was never 


94 


The Doctor and the Parson 


known to make a mistake. She always had her 
fixed prices and dealt out her wares perhaps par- 
simoniously, but always gave the correct meas- 
ure. She never cheated any one, and no one 
ever cheated her. 

One morning Grandma started earlier than 
usual. The days were long and the winds hot. 
The drive to Meringo was seventeen miles, and 
she never drove her horses out of a walk. That 
morning the clock struck four just as she drove 
out of her back gate. She hadn’t gone over 
two hundred yards when she met a man in a 
double buggy. Day was just beginning to 
dawn, and it was a little cloudy, too; so she 
did not recognize the driver at first, but in a mo- 
ment he drew up his horses and stopped. “Good 
morning. Grandma,” said he. “You are early 
this morning.” 

“Why, it’s Doctor Wilson; hain’t it?” said 
she. “And where be you going so early. Doc- 
tor?” 

“I’m on my way to see a sick child of Mac 
Brown’s, just a mile from your place,” replied 
the Doctor. “I left home at two o’clock this 
morning and must hurry on, as the child is 
very bad, they said. Good-morning,” and he 
drove on. 


Matters Become Serious 


95 


‘This is the tenth day of August/’ said 
Grandma aloud to herself as she jogged along 
on her way. “Yes, the Confederate reunion 
begins the twelfth, and I must hurry home to- 
night and spend tomorrow baking and doing 
up my Sunday dress. I can’t give up the re- 
union, for my poor old husband’s sake. Last 
year he carried the flag. I can see him now, 
marching with the others and waving the tat- 
tered flag, that proud as though it was a fine 
new one.” And the poor old woman shed her 
tears all alone. “Yes, I’ll go, for his sake,” 
she said. 

The night of the ninth was a dark, stormy 
one. Black clouds and muttering thunder in- 
dicated an impending storm. Business houses 
were closed, and every one went home to his 
family. Not a light was seen on the square, 
save one which gleamed feebly from the “Cow- 
boys’ Saloon.” This flickered constantly 
through the gloom of the storm, and even after 
the storm was over it still flickered on, far 
into the night. Just as the clock struck twelve 
a man on horseback rode up to the saloon. 

“Halloo !” said he. “Is Doctor Tate in here ? 
I’ve been all over town looking for him.” 


96 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Leaning back against the wall in his chair, 
his hat pulled down over his shaggy brows and 
surrounded by a crowd of half-drunken rowdy 
fellows, sat Doctor Tate. He himself didn’t 
look above suspicion. An oath escaped his lips 
at the thought of being called away from his 
comrades in the midst of such an interesting 
game. 

‘Tt’s only a couple of miles, boys. I’ll be 
back in a jiffy. You hold the fort till I come.” 
And Doctor Tate closed the door behind him. 
At one o’clock he was back, and by half-past 
one the lights were out. At about three o’clock 
in the morning, when the whole world was 
asleep, Agnes was awakened from her peace- 
ful slumbers by the rapid ringing of church 
bells, the shrill whistle of an engine and the 
startling cries of “Fire! Fire!” Springing to 
her feet, she ran to the window and looked 
out. Yes, some large building was burning. 
Running to her cousin’s door, she said : “Cousin 
Will, get up, quick ! There’s a fire.” 

Mr. Morton soon discovered that the Wil- 
son drug store was in flames. The wind was 
fanning the flames into terrific fury, and, the 
building being old and dry, it was evident that 
nothing could save it. The flames leaped 


Matters Become Serious 


97 


higher and higher until a huge tongue shot up 
through the roof. Cinders and burning shin- 
gles flew upward and in every direction. 

'Toor Doctor Wilson!'' said Mrs. Morton. 
'‘He is so unfortunate. I heard him say only 
yesterday that he intended taking out more in- 
surance, but I don't know that he did. Too 
bad if he loses it all." 

Doctor Wilson drove up to the site of his 
drug store at ten o'clock in the morning only 
to find a heap of smoldering ruins. The shock 
was severe. In answer to the numerous in- 
quiries as to whether he had insurance he would 
always reply: "Yes, the house and drugs are 
partly insured ; but there were treasures in my 
office that no insurance could replace. I would 
not have taken thousands for them." 

He and his friends conjectured all day as to 
the possible origin of the fire, never once sus- 
pecting any one, but deciding that it must have 
been purely accidental. Ah 1 little did he know 
what was in store for him. 


CHAPTER XI 

THE CONFEDERATE REUNION 

Mr. Morton had been invited to be present 
with his family and make the opening address 
at the annual reunion of the Stonewall Jack- 
son Camp of Ford County. This reunion of 
the ‘‘old boys in Gray’’ is the last of the sum- 
mer entertainments and the crowning event of 
all. The reunion usually occupied three days, 
and extensive preparations were made both at 
home and on the grounds. Not only did the 
ex-Confederates of this county participate, but 
those from the three adjoining counties came 
and brought their families, and almost the en- 
tire population of Meringo was there. Those 
who lived near the grounds found it conveni- 
ent and pleasant to drive out early in the morn- 
ing and return home in the moonlight, but the 
majority preferred to pitch their tents and camp 
in correct style. 


The Confederate Reunion 


99 


By six o'clock on the morning of the twelfth 
of August Mr. Morton and family and Agnes 
were on the way to the reunion in their beau- 
tiful new surrey. Doctor Wilson had antici- 
pated the pleasure of accompanying Agnes, but 
was called off on a professional visit just at the 
hour of starting, so left word that he would 
drive out when at leisure. 

‘This morning breeze is charming," said 
Agnes. “I can never tire of praising this cli- 
mate." 

“Yes; really," said Mrs. Morton, “I would 
not exchange it even for life in the old home 
again. We've been so healthy here; and you 
know, William, some of us were sick always 
at home." 

Although it was late in the summer that 
year, there had been plenty of rain, and the 
grass and mesquite were still a beautiful green. 
Many late flowers bloomed along the way. My- 
riads of sunflowers shone in full splendor, and 
the cactus blooms were especially beautiful. 
Even the delicate aigrette-like flowers of the 
mesquite played their part beautifully in dec- 
orating the prairie. Nine o'clock found them 
driving through the large gate leading into the 
camp grounds, and soon they were in full view 




100 


The Doctor and the Parson 


of the tents — for almost all of the veterans and 
their families had arrived the evening before. 
Vehicles of all kinds were pouring in from 
every direction, until by eleven there was a 
swarming mass of human beings. 

The spacious and beautiful grounds were 
located on a clear fork of the Brazos. So clear 
and placid was the stream that one could drop 
a pebble and see it in the bottom. The elm, 
oak and other trees which lined the banks of 
the river were of that deep rich green which 
marks the foliage of this country, and these 
were festooned with the most luxuriant ivy. 
The entire grove was a scene of natural beauty. 
Every provision had been made for the enter- 
tainment of the crowd. The ‘^merry-go- 
round,’’ with its load of light-hearted boys and 
girls, was never idle, and looked picturesque 
indeed in the national colors, red, white and 
blue, against the green of the trees. There were 
swings of all kinds for the merry little young- 
sters. The “snake show,” with its wonderful 
snake performances, drew the crowds who had 
nothing to do but spend their hard-won sum- 
mer earnings. The photographer was there, 
too, ready to take views of the grounds and 
scenes of the reunion, as well as to wait on the 


The Confederate Reunion 


101 


comely youths and maidens who wanted their 
pictures ‘‘took.’^ Ice cream tables and lemon- 
ade stands were there galore, and the poor old 
Mexican vender tramped all day long over the 
grounds crying: “Hot tamales! Hot tama- 
les!’’ Hundreds of nickels that the children 
had saved up for months before poured into 
the hands of the candy man. Sweet strains of 
music pervaded the air almost constantly, for 
one of the best brass bands in the State had 
been employed for the occasion. The whole 
was a scene of unalloyed pleasure. 

It is at one of these reunions that one can 
form a correct opinion of the classes of people 
that live in the West, as each class, from the 
choicest of Southern aristocracy and the cream 
of Northern and Western culture to the grossly 
ignorant, is liberally represented. The best of 
harmony prevails; indeed, it is no uncommon 
sight to witness the hearty handshake of a “boy 
in Gray” and one in “Blue.” 

At half-past eleven the band struck up 
“Dixie,” after which Speaker Morton was in- 
troduced. An immense platform had been 
erected in the middle of the grove, on which 
were seated the members of the band, the speak- 
ers and the old soldiers. Seats had been pro- 
vided for a large crowd, far back into the grove. 


102 


The Doctor and the Parson 


'T don’t know why it is,” said Mrs. Mor- 
ton, ‘‘but I adore the very sight of gray, and 
my heart is filled with rapture when the band 
begins to play.” 

A loud burst of applause greeted Mr. Mor- 
ton as he stepped before the crowd. “This is 
an occasion,” said he, “that I delight to honor. 
The commemoration of that awful conflict 
should be observed at least annually in the 
South. Yes, I say that the heroic, self-sacrific- 
ing and indomitable spirit which led the chiv- 
alry of the South to lay down their lives for a 
principle they believed to be right must not be 
consigned to oblivion. The Nation cannot af- 
ford to neglect to honor the lives of those who 
have fought and bled in her service. Nothing 
is more potent in molding and strengthening 
a love for the good, the true and the brave than 
the monuments of marble and bronze erected 
to the memory of the Nation’s heroes. These 
evidences of the country’s appreciation cultivate 
and develop a patriotism and loyalty that noth- 
ing else could. We have not met here today 
to discuss the merits of the great principle in- 
volved or the causes which led to this memor- 
able strife. Suffice it to say that the seeds of 
dissension were unconsciously sown in the 


The Confederate Reunion 103 

forming of our Federal Constitution. The 
question of State rights, under that instrument 
and under its various interpretations, too often 
viewed from a local and selfish standpoint, was 
the entering wedge which divided the Nation. 
We meet here today to cast a bouquet of lov- 
ing gratitude to each of the battle-scarred vet- 
erans who freely offered their lives for the Lost 
Cause. For four long years you upheld the 
banner of your principles and sacrificed on your 
country's altar your property, your strength, 
your all. In this you have nothing of which 
to be ashamed. You have earned and are justly 
entitled to the lasting gratitude and honor of 
your beloved Southland. I esteem it an honor 
to be called your friend. While there are many 
things on this occasion to bring joy to our 
hearts, there is sadness, too. The memory of 
those who no longer answer to the roll-call 
here is yet too fresh in our recollection. To 
those gallant boys who led the charge on so 
many bloody fields. Peace be to their ashes. 

“On fame’s eternal camping-ground 
Their silent tents are spread.’ 

‘‘Not only do we laud the patriotism and 
valor which you displayed all through the fight, 
but also that indomitable spirit with which you 


104 


The Doctor and the Parson 


^took up arms against a sea of trouble' on your 
return to your native homes. Hundreds found 
themselves not only homeless, but penniless. 
Many who had lived like kings and princes now 
found themselves confronted by direst poverty. 
But, with that same spirit which characterized 
you in the strife, you battled with reverses; 
and out of the debris and ashes has sprung a 
new South, grander than the old." 

Mr. Morton also paid a tribute to Southern 
womanhood, praising her for her beautiful self- 
denial, feminine bravery and womanly devotion. 

‘‘And I notice," said he, “before me some of 
the veterans who wore the Blue. To you we 
extend a cordial welcome. None but the brave 
can appreciate the brave, and, while we differed 
in our views, we respect and admire your loy- 
alty to what you believed to be duty. Yes, wel- 
come to the ‘boys in Blue.’ " 

The speech called forth a burst of applause 
from the old soldiers, and the band again played 
“Dixie," which sent a thrill of emotion to every 
true Southerner. Dinner was announced, and 
all repaired to their camps, with invited friends, 
and partook of such a feast as is usually found 
at reunions. 


The Confederate Reunion 105 

i 

Music, speaking, etc., ^ furnished entertain- 
ment for the afternoon, and when the evening 
drill and supper were over, then came the most 
enjoyable time of all to the old soldiers. Seated 
around the camp-fires, they recounted war ex- 
periences, some exceedingly amusing, while 
others flooded their eyes with tears. One old 
man whose heart was over- full started up in his 
feeble voice, ‘Tenting tonight; tenting to- 
night;’’ the comrades joined in, until from tent 
to tent “Tenting on the old camp ground” 
swelled into one grand anthem. Tired at last, 
the campers sought repose, and but for the 
“All’s well!” of the sentinel, all through the 
night quiet reigned supreme. 

At five A. M. the reveille sounded, and the 
campers were soon astir, the veterans hastening 
for their morning parade, while their good 
wives prepared the morning meal. The morn- 
ing was bright and beautiful, and breakfast 
over, all turned their attention to the program. 
This consisted of speaking and music, inter- 
spersed wlith sketches from the chapters of 
their experiences of war times by the old heroes. 

Conspicuous among the boys in Gray was 
Brother Kuchenbacher, their much-revered 
chaplain. In addition to his natural physical 


106 


The Doctor and the Parson 


deformities, he had had all the fingers of his 
right hand shot off in battle. In the closing 
remarks of his speech to his comrades the little 
hunch-backed Parson said: ''Yes, brethren, 
we have fought a good fight, and weVe almost 
finished the course.’' Pointing that stub of a 
hand to the sky and rolling his little bead-like 
eyes toward heaven, he cried : "And grant that 
when the roll is called up yonder we shall see 
each other there. Praise the Lord.” 

When he retired from the stand there was 
scarcely a dry eye to be seen. Somehow the 
sight of the tattered little old man suggested to 
his comrades that they must soon answer to 
another roll-call, somewhere. Yes, Brother 
Kuchenbacher was a good man and everybody 
knew it. Even the enemies of his cause re- 
garded him as a kind of sacred being, and his 
word was never questioned. The band! played 
slowly and mournfully a dirge. 

Doctor Wilson and Agnes spent most of 
their time promenading over the grounds, but 
this afternoon they wandered off to a shady 
nook, not far enough to exclude altogether the 
attractive scenes of the reunion, but just an 
ideal lovers’ retreat. When they were seated 
upon the rocks, Agnes broke the silence. "This, 


The Confederate Reunion 


107 


I believe, is the first opportunity Tve had to ex- 
press my sympathy for you in your recent loss 
by fire, Doctor/' 

‘‘Yes; but, dlear, I was conceited enough to 
claim your sympathy from the first, and that 
alone is a kind of balm to my wounded feelings. 
Your sympathy and love counterbalance all dis- 
likes and hates," replied the Doctor. 

“But, Doctor, I don't quite understand. Why 
do you talk that way? You don't think any 
one so cruel as to do you such a wrong?" 

“Yes, Agnes, I do. At first I would not sus- 
pect any one, but things have developed since, 
which lead me to believe that the fire was of 
incendiary origin — the burning of my drug 
store was no mere accident. No insurance 
could ever recompense for the loss I have sus- 
tained. I had valuable papers in my safe; be- 
sides, I had treasures, things that were dear to 
my heart, that no money could buy. My medals 
and diplomas — no duplicate could take their 
places to me. It was a fiery trial, indeed, to me, 
but I've tried to do my duty and will continue 
to try, and I hope and believe the whole mys- 
tery will be cleared up some day. And I have 
faith enough to believe that all will be right." 

“Yes, indeed. Doctor, I believe so, too. 


108 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Cousin Lou says that these little trials are God’s 
chastenings, all for our good. And remem- 
ber that in all your trials, whatever they are 
and wherever they may be, I’ll be true to you.” 

The Doctor bent low and pressed the little 
hand tenderly to his lips. ‘‘Yes, love is the 
sweetest thing in the world,” he said. Taking 
from his pocket a dainty little white plush box, 
the Doctor drew forth an exquisite diamond 
ring, a beautiful solitaire. 

“Agnes, I have noticed that you never wear 
the diamond which was on your finger when I 
first met you. May I ask you why ?” said he. 

“Yes; the answer is simple enough,” replied 
Agnes. “Although it is scarcely perceptible, 
my finger has never regained its natural pro- 
portions since it was bitten by the tarantula. 
The ring, which was my dear mother’s, was al- 
ways tight for me, and after that I could never 
get it on.” 

“Well, in the place of that, may I put this on 
your finger as a pledge of my love to you ? And 
will you promise me not only your heart, but 
your hand?” 

Love speaks not a word, but manifests itself 
in its own sweet way. 


The Confederate Reunion 


109 


‘The shadows are lengthening and we must 
be going back to the camp. Cousin Lou never 
likes me to be out late/’ said Agnes. Slowly 
and almost silently they wended their way back, 
and were just in time to witness the evening 
parade. 

The next day was an inauspicious one. A 
gloom seemed hanging over the camps, and the 
morning gray told all they must soon be on 
their way. Doctor Wilson was assisting Mrs. 
Morton in her preparations to break camp, 
when some one touched him on the arm. Turn- 
ing, he recognized the sheriff, an old friend of 
his. 

“Doctor, old boy, you are my prisoner,” said 
he, and the Doctor was presented with a war- 
rant accusing him of arson — the burning of his 
own drug store. 

“What! Accusing me of arson. Accusing 
me of such a devilish crime 1” His face filled 
with indignation, and he burst into a volley of 
bitter words against Tate and Hawkins. Then 
he grew faint. Agnes, who had heard it all, 
stood near him, the very picture of agony. Mrs. 
Morton stepped up to him and put her hand 
on his shoulder, saying : “Be brave, dear Doc- 
tor. Remember that Truth crushed to earth 


110 


The Doctor and the Parson 


will rise again/ and remember, too, to ^take it 
to the Lord in prayer,' and I will pray for you, 
too." 

‘‘May I speak to Miss Scott a moment ?" he 
asked the officer. Stepping aside with Agnes, 
he said : “Perhaps you may wish to be released 
from your engagement, since such disgrace has 
come upon me; but, while I cannot ask you to 
share it with me, I do beg of you to believe 
that I am innocent. God knows that I am, and 
I believe He’ll carry me through." 

“Yes, indeed," said Agnes. “I know that 
you are innocent. And don’t you remember 
my promise to you? Yes, I’ll be true to you. 
‘Love is not love that alters when alteration 
finds.’ " 

“Thank you, dearest !" And the Doctor 
walked off with the officer. 


CHAPTER XII 

THE DOCTOR DOUBTS 

The warrant under which the arrest was 
made was based upon an affidavit sworn out by 
Jim Hawkins. As soon as the friends of Doc- 
tor Wilson learned of this procedure they were 
much incensed and hastened to his rescue. The 
bond required for his appearance at the next 
term of court was furnished, and Doctor Wil- 
son was set at liberty ‘'until court,'’ which con- 
vened two weeks from that time. A large ma- 
jority of the people of that section were aston- 
ished at the accusations against the Doctor, 
whose character had been heretofore unim- 
peachable — above the slightest suspicion. 
There was much indignation at what was gen- 
erally believed to be an outrage perpetrated 
upon a good man. Doctor Wilson, as was nat- 
ural, felt a deep resentment toward the au- 
thors of his attempted disgrace. He was also 
chagrined and mortified at the thought of sub- 
mitting to a trial on such a charge. But on 


112 


The Doctor and the Parson 


sober second thought he concluded it would be 
best to submit to the forms of law. He began 
to think of his whereabouts at the time of the 
fire and the witnesses to prove it. It was while 
cogitating in this strain that he concluded to 
go over to the Morton residence and see how 
they felt toward him after reflecting on the inci- 
dent of his arrest. That dear, innocent face, 
which showed such implicit trust in him, and 
those words of sweet assurance, ‘T\l be true to 
you,’’ came back to him and gave him a mo- 
ment’s solace. Just then some one stepped up, 
and on turning he met a Mr. Redner, who had 
come to him for a prescription for himself, 
though, judging from the way his tongue rat- 
tled until midnight, it is doubtful whether he 
ever thought of the medicine again, or whether 
he needed it at first, after all the Doctor’s care- 
ful compounding. Redner, taking two cigars 
from his pocket, handed one to the Doctor, 
and seated himself in the Doctor’s office, so 
there was nothing left but for Doctor Wilson 
to be seated and entertain his visitor. They be- 
gan smoking. 

‘‘Times are kinder corky these days, ain’t 
they?” said Mr. Redner, by way of introduc- 
tion, puffing his cigar vigorously. 


The Doctor Doubts 


113 


'^Yes, the failure in crops and high price of 
living are being felt keenly in this country. Col- 
lections of all kinds are backward, and every- 
body is behind,” replied the Doctor. 

‘T don’t think I ever seen people so down in 
the mouth afore, said Mr. Redner. ‘‘And a 
whole sight of ’em are going to leave for the 
Nation this fall. I guess you’ll be for pulling 
out, won’t you, if you ever git clear?” 

“No, indeed, I won’t,” said the Doctor. 
“When I am cleared, as I believe I will be, I 
shall stay right here and live it all down. I have 
many friends here, who will stand by me 
through it all, and I will show my gratitude to 
them by proving my integrity to the world.” 

“Well, it’s mighty nice if a fellow can have 
so much con-fi-dence in folks; but I tell you 
there’s a powerful sight of them that ain’t the 
friends to a fellow that they make out to be, 
and when he gits into trouble they go clean 
back on him. Now, that’s what I know.” 

Doctor Wilson thought he could see a slight 
insinuation intended for him to catch in that 
last remark. At any other time he would have 
scorned to notice it, but now he was wounded 
and exceedingly sensitive. “You don’t think 
any of my friends would go back on me, do 
you ?” asked he of his rough companion. 


114 


The Doctor and the Parson 


^'Oh, no, I don’t know as I do ; unless it is 
that man Morton you are so thick with. I 
don’t know nothin’, now, ’cep’n but I’ve heerd 
people say you was mightily fooled in him. 
But, now, I don’t know nothin’.” 

‘‘Mr. Morton, did you say, Mr. Redner? 
Oh, he’s all right,” said the Doctor, trying to 
assume a perfectly indifferent tone, for the pur- 
pose of drawing him out. 

“Huh ! That’s all you know about it,” said 
Mr. Redner. 

“Well, what did you ever hear Mr. Morton 
say that made you think he was not my friend ?” 

“Oh, I never heerd him say nothin’, now 
mind you, but I hear folks say that he says it 
looks mighty suspicious to him about that in- 
surance. Now, don’t you say nothin’ about it, 
because I don’t know nothin’, but I did hear a 
man, and a man that knowed what he was talk- 
ing about, say that Mr. Morton said he was 
mighty sorry, but there was somethin’ mighty 
perculiar about that insurance, and he kinder 
suspicioned you and warn’t going to have 
nothin’ to do with it himself.” 

Doctor Wilson’s feelings were crushed with- 
in, but he concealed it all. When a man’s ene- 
mies maltreat him it is nothing more than he 


The Doctor Doubts 


115 


expects, but when a friend whom he has trusted 
doubts him in the presence of his enemies it 
hurts. Yes, Doctor Wilson was deeply wound- 
ed. But why is it that one will be influenced 
by the tales of those who know nothing them- 
selves, but hear everything? Beware of these 
soft-mouthed friends who tell you ^^for your 
own good’’ not what they know, but what 
they’ve heard. They are the greatest menaces 
to public good, even worse than the profes- 
sional tattler, because they assume an air of 
friendliness and innocence that makes one al- 
most afraid not to believe them. They at least 
create a doubt in the minds of their listeners. 

Doctor Wilson was a proud man and a man 
of refined feelings. Under any other circum- 
stances he wouldn’t have allowed anything or 
any one to cause him to doubt his friends, but 
now it was different. His mind was a fine net 
of conflicting thoughts. ^T wonder if Mrs. 
Morton trusts me still ?” thought he. ^^But, no ; 
of course she will be influenced by her hus- 
band. She, too, will doubt me. But, more 
than all, will Agnes, my dear girl, be true to 
me? Yes,” he had said to himself, ‘T trust her 
promise — she’ll be true to me.” He longed to 
see her sweet, sympathizing face, to tell her over 


116 


The Doctor and the Parson 


again that he was innocent and would prove to 
the world that he was, but now he felt a deli- 
cacy in visiting the Morton home, so concluded 
to write to Agnes. He unburdened his soul to 
her in a long letter. Several days went by and 
there was no reply, so Doctor Wilson wrote 
again, and asked Agnes to reply immediately; 
but ‘‘the letter never came.’' Doctor Wilson 
was crushed ; his every hope seemed gone. He 
dared not write again. Something was wrong, 
though he never once allowed himself to believe 
that Agnes had forsaken him. If he could only 
have known that at that very moment a heart 
was almost breaking for him. Agnes had lis- 
tened for his footsteps, had longed to tell him 
that she loved him now better than ever before, 
and to assure him again that, come what may, 
she would be true to him. She wondered why 
he did not come, or at least why he did not pen 
her a few short lines. The few days since she 
had seen him seemed months. More than one 
sweet little letter was written him which mod- 
esty forbade her sending. Two hearts were 
breaking, each unknown to the other. Ah! 
cruel fate! Agnes’ silence, together with the 
things he had heard, tended to strengthen Doc- 
tor Wilson in his conviction that Mr. Redner 


The Doctor Doubts 


117 


had, for once, told the truth, that Mr. Mor- 
ton was suspicious of him, and perhaps opposed 
to Agnes’ receiving his attentions. Still he 
trusted her, but his pride caused him to treat 
Mr. Morton with cold indifference, to shun him 
on every occasion. Mr. Morton, appreciating 
the feeling he supposed Doctor Wilson to have 
on account of the latter’s relations with a mem- 
ber of his family, did not force himself upon 
him, and this gave strength to Doctor Wilson’s 
suspicions. The Doctor employed his counsel- 
lors and braced himself as best he could for 
the trial. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE TRIAL 

The convening of District Court was always 
an event in the staid little burg of Meringo, but 
this term was to be an exceptionally interest- 
ing one. Doctor Wilson’s case was accorded 
the first place in the August session to begin 
early Monday morning. The day was ideal, 
bright and balmy; much more appropriate for 
a picnic than for an unjust trial. Just as the 
clock on the cupola of the court-house struck 
ten the court crier announced the opening of 
the morning session. The high standing and 
popularity of the prisoner, as well as the gen- 
eral belief that the charge against him was only 
an effort to victimize and ruin him, that the 
instigators might reap the advantages growing 
from it, created intense feeling. The crowds 
that had already assembled in town from all 


The Trial 


119 


parts of the county began eagerly to push 
their way into the court-room, until it was un- 
comfortably crowded. 

Among the first to be seated were Mr. Mor- 
ton, his wife and Agnes. The latter, though 
beautiful, showed unmistakable marks of sad- 
ness in her face. The usual smile was missing. 
Pale and motionless sat the prisoner in the 
dock, but the same calm dignity and truthful 
candor that had always characterized the fea- 
tures of Doctor Wilson appealed with eloquent 
pathos to the crowd before him. One long, 
wistful glance was thrown on Agnes, who sat 
directly opposite him, and the blessed assurance 
that was dispatched pantomimically in return 
served as a message of hope to the Doctor. 

‘^The little glance across the crowd, 

None else can read, wherein there lies 
A life of love at once avowed.” 

^‘The State is ready in the case against Doc- 
tor J. L. Wilson for arson,” announced Dis- 
trict Attorney Seaborn. ‘‘What has the de- 
fendant to say?” 

“The defendant is ready,” replied Colonel 
Whitesides. 

“Mr. Clerk, prepare a list of the jury for 
the parties,” said the judge. In a few moments 


120 


The Doctor and the Parson 


a jury of twelve men, good and true, men who 
felt the responsibility of their position, were 
selected, impaneled and sworn to render a true 
verdict on the facts under the law as charged 
by the Court. The indictment was formally 
read and the defendant was asked for his plea. 

‘‘Not guilty,” responded Doctor Wilson, in 
a voice clear and strong. Thereupon the long 
array of witnesses were called in and placed 
“under rule.” 

The State’s Attorney chose as his first witness 
Jim Hawkins, who had made the affidavit 
charging the burning of the drug store to Doc- 
tor Wilson. He was asked as to his acquaint- 
ance with Doctor Wilson, how long he had 
known him, etc., etc. After the witness had 
stated that Doctor Wilson had spoken of tak- 
ing an additional policy of insurance on his 
stock of drugs only a few days prior to the 
burning of the store, Mr. Seaborn asked: 
“Well, do you know any facts connecting Doc- 
tor Wilson with the fire?” 

With a shrug of his shoulders and a nervous 
twist of his red mustache, the rough, shaggy 
fellow began: “Yes; I was mighty late a-goin’ 
home on the night of the ninth, and as I passed 
down the street near the Wilson drug store I 


The Trial 


121 


heerd somebody in there. I sez to myself, Tt 
might be robbers,’ so I just stood and listened. 
There warn’t no light in there, because the win- 
ders was next to me. While I was a-standin’ 
there some fellow sneaked out the back door 
and shet it plum easy. I slipped round and 
watched him — couldn’t see him good, but he 
walked mightily like Doctor Wilson and he was 
near ’bout the same size.” The hard-visaged 
man kept his eyes riveted on one spot on the 
floor, as if afraid to lift them. ‘Well, I know 
I warn’t to home no more than thirty minutes, 
any way, before Jane, — that’s my wife, — hol- 
lered out: ‘Jim, git up; for goodness sake, git 
up ! There’s a fire, and I believe for shore it’s 
the saloon !’ I looked out and seen the Wilson 
drug store a-burnin’, and as soon as I could git 
into my clothes bolted up town.” 

Colonel Whitesides, for the defense, now 
took the witness. “What business are you en- 
gaged in, Mr. Hawkins?” asked he. 

“Well, I own a drug store and am a pardner 
in the Cowboy Saloon, too,” said the witness, 
proudly. 

“How do you like Doctor Wilson?” asked 
the attorney. 


122 


The Doctor and the Parson 


‘‘Well, I ain't got nothin’ special against 
him. Ain’t got much love for him, though,” 
replied the uncouth witness, with a kind of pre- 
tended grin. 

After proving that there was no friendly 
feeling among the Tate-Hawkins crowd for 
Doctor Wilson, and making Hawkins admit 
that Tate and others were in the saloon until a 
late hour on the night of the fire, and also com- 
pelling him to admit that it was impossible to 
identify any one in the dark at the distance 
he was from the party who emerged from the 
back door. Colonel Whitesides asked again: 
“And you say the man was about the size of 
Doctor Wilson?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the witness. 

“And isn’t Doctor Tate about the same size 
as Doctor Wilson?” plied the lawyer. “Isn’t 
he? I say.” 

The witness, raising his eyes for the first 
time, looked startled and afraid. “I ’low he is 
near ’bout,” he stammered. The weight of 
this last question was felt by the entire audi- 
ence. 

State’s Attorney Seaborn introduced other 
witnesses who claimed to have heard Doctor 
Wilson speak of increasing his insurance, after 
which he rested his case. 


The Trial 


123 


Colonel Whitesides then introduced the in- 
surance agent and plied him with questions as 
to the value of the property and as to the 
amount of insurance thereon. The witness 
stated that Doctor Wilson had at the time of 
the fire two policies, one that he had taken out 
two years before, and one recently to take the 
place of a policy that had expired, being for 
the same amount as the expired policy. 

'^Mr. Agent, state to the jury whether or 
not Doctor Wilson gave any reasons for tak- 
ing out the new policy.’' 

This question was objected to because self- 
serving, but Judge Stone, who was not only 
an eminent jurist but an excellent man, re- 
marked that the answer might go to the jury. 
Since it was a case of circumstantial evidence, 
he thought the searchlights ought to be turned 
on. The agent then stated that Doctor Wilson 
remarked, when he took out the last policy, that 
he wished he felt financially able to take more, 
because he had enemies in town whom he be- 
lieved none too good to resort to anything to 
injure him, even to burning his property. The 
State’s Attorney obtained nothing from this 
witness on cross-examination, of any value to 
the State. 


124 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Colonel Whitesides proved, by a number of 
the county officials and prominent citizens, that 
the prisoner’s reputation for honesty and in- 
tegrity of character was untarnished. 

Relief seemed in the atmosphere to the 
friends of Doctor Wilson when good old 
Brother Kuchenbacher arose to give his testi- 
mony, and Jim Hawkins and Doctor Tate and 
their friends nervously moved about in their 
seats. 

‘‘On the afternoon of the ninth,” began the 
Parson, “I set out in my gig for Meringo. It 
was not long after noon when I started. I 
drove on slowly, groaning in the spirit at every 
turn of my cart wheels, for the sinners I was 
on my way to warn against the wrath to come. 
The sun was almost setting, and I said to my 
faithful old gray: ‘Our journey is nearly over, 
old horse, and we’ll soon have a good supper 
at Sister Morton’s.’ I looked for the stone in 
the road that marked two miles from Meringo, 
but, lo ! it wasn’t there. In my yearnings for 
my people I had missed the road twelve miles, 
and my poor old horse and I were that far from 
the end. Tired and hungry, we turned around 
and retraced our way back to the right road, 
reaching Meringo at two o’clock on the morn- 


The Trial 


125 


ing of the tenth. As I passed by the Wilson 
drug store I heard something fall in the build- 
ing, and, stopping opposite and very near a 
window, I saw a dim light and a man. The 
man seemed to be frightened by the sound of 
my wheels and jumped back, throwing the light 
right on his face. Did I know him? Aye, I 
knew him well. Was it the Doctor? Yes, but 
not our Doctor.” 

And, deliberately turning around, he aimed 
his little stub of a hand as if it had been a 
weapon, and, gazing into the eyes of Doctor 
Tate, he said, in solemn tones: ‘‘Thou art the 
man.” 

The guilty criminal dropped his head upon 
his breast as if a bullet had pierced his heart. 
A pin could have been heard to fall in the still- 
ness that prevailed. Something divine seemed 
to have fallen, and the entire court, from the 
usual calm, dignified judge to the prisoner in 
the dock, were awe-stricken. 

The old man then, turning around, resumed 
his speech. He told how he drove right to the 
Doctor’s boarding house to inform him of what 
he had seen, and how Mr. Jones, the man with 
whom the Doctor boarded, told him that Doc- 
tor Wilson had been called to see a sick child 
eighteen miles distant. 


126 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Grandma Bussy was then placed on the 
stand. Her face was wreathed with smiles 
while she testified. ‘‘Yes, indeed, I met the 
Doctor, and it was Doctor Wilson, too. He 
said good-moming, and so did I. He was 
going to see Mac Brown’s sick baby. I was 
coming to town. He had to hurry on. I did, 
too, so we said good-bye and drove on.” 

Other witnesses were examined, and Doctor 
Wilson was asked to take the stand. His tes- 
timony was corroborative of that of Grandma 
Bussy and others who had testified to his hav- 
ing been called to the country. He closed by 
saying : “God knows my heart. He knows that 
I am innocent.” The defense rested here. 

The evidence having been closed, Mr. Sea- 
horn began his address to the jury. He was a 
subtle, “smooth-talking” lawyer, and could con- 
struct a very plausible theory from very meager 
facts. His very physiognomy and apparel were 
sufficient to attract and hold attention. He was 
short and corpulent, and his round, bald head 
seemed to have been stuck on his shoulders 
without much ceremony. His eyes were not 
much larger than beads, but were black and 
piercing. But by far the most prominent facial 
characteristic was that huge hawk-bill nose, 


The Trial 


127 


which, once seen, was never forgotten. He 
possessed a stentorian voice, which he could at 
will throw out in such volume as to deafen an 
audience. He was never known to wear any- 
thing but very light trousers and a black coat 
of such length as would suggest a compromise 
between a bishop’s gown and a clergyman’s 
frock. 

‘‘Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “I don’t 
believe that twelve men possessed of so much 
gray matter as you are, will be influenced by the 
high social standing of the defendant or any 
personal friendliness you may have for him. 
The laws of our country are made for the pro- 
tection of society, and the violators thereof, be 
they of high or low estate, are equally amen- 
able thereto. It has been proven that the de- 
fendant had a motive in the commission of this 
deed, having but a few days prior taken out 
more insurance, as shown in the evidence. An 
effort has been made to explain all this away, 
it is true, by showing that the property was 
worth more than it was insured for. The de- 
fendant has been driven to the desperate resort 
of attempting to prove an alibi, the dernier re- 
sort of the criminal, but has he shown such 
defense as will exculpate him from this charge ? 


128 


The Doctor and the Parson 


Could not he have lighted a smoldering fire in 
the earlier hours of the night, which would 
hours afterward kindle into the flames that de- 
stroyed his property? I appeal to your good 
judgment. Look well into the facts and cir- 
cumstances surrounding the case, and if you 
believe him guilty, so say by your verdict. You 
will then have the satisfaction of having con- 
scientiously discharged your duty.’’ 

Colonel Whitesides then addressed the court 
briefly on the issues of law in the case, insisting 
that he charge on the rules controlling circum- 
stantial evidence. Then, turning to the jury, 
he spoke : ‘^Gentlemen of the jury, I have not 
the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with 
each of you, therefore I do not know your 
habits of thought or your mode of looking at 
things. I am not a mind-reader, as our honor- 
able District Attorney seems to be, that I can 
see the workings of your minds. But you have 
sworn to try this case according to law, and 
that your verdict would be based on the evi- 
dence in the case, as charged by the court. The 
honesty and candor displayed in your faces is 
sufficient assurance that my client will receive 
fair treatment and justice at your hands. The 
charge against him is indeed grave. It is a 


The Trial 


129 


heinous crime against the laws of our country. 
The culprit who can maliciously set fire to the 
property of another, or the man who would do 
so for the insurance thereon, is fit for murder 
or treason, and is a menace to the public. The 
very heinousness of this crime is in itself a 
strong argument that my client is not the au- 
thor of it. Men do not become criminals at one 
bound. 

‘ Vice is a monster of such hideous mien 
That to be hated is but to be seen ; 

But, seen too oft, familiar with its face. 

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.’ 

'‘The thing we call conscience, which some 
say is the voice of God in the heart, rebels 
against such thoughts at first. It is only after 
the mind has pondered long over such things 
that conscience yields to such a deed as this. 
Let us review the evidence bearing upon the 
character of Doctor Wilson. The best men in 
your county tell you that his reputation for 
honesty and probity was unsullied prior to this 
charge. If it is true that even the unscrupu- 
lous would shrink at first from such a crime, 
much more would shrink a man like Doctor 
Wilson, who breathed a pure moral atmos- 
phere and was an exemplar in every way ; who 


130 


The Doctor and the Parson 


by nature had a nice sense of right and wrong, 
and that made more acute by training and edu- 
cation. The known course of Nature is con- 
trary to such a presumption.’^ 

Colonel Whitesides now reviewed the facts 
of the case, and, summing up the same, re- 
sumed speaking. 

‘‘No sane man,” said he, “acts without a mo- 
tive ; the greater the crime, the greater must be 
the incentive. The fact that there is no motive, 
much less an adequate one, argues most 
strongly the innocence of my client. Now, if 
you rid the case of a motive, what is there to 
throw the slightest suspicion against Doctor 
Wilson, unless it is the testimony of Mr. Haw- 
kins? And did not he admit in words that it 
was impossible to identify any one in the dark? 
Did not he confess that Doctor Tate and Doc- 
tor Wilson were about the same size? But let 
us pass on. We have heard from the mouths 
of those whose veracity we dare not doubt that 
Doctor Wilson was far away from the scene 
of the crime. He was on the way to relieve 
the suffering when the dastardly crime was per- 
petrated. Not content with destroying his 
property, they laid the crime at his own door, 
thus attempting to filch his good name, which 


The Trial 


131 


is dearer to an honest man than life. Who 
were the ghouls in human form that plotted and 
planned these infernal schemes? Look at the 
circumstances and draw your conclusion. Who 
were they that met in Hawkins’ saloon on the 
eventful night? How long did they tarry 
there ? Remember what good old Brother 
Kuchenbacher saw. Can you doubt him? I 
say, gentlemen, that the evidence in this case 
shows a cold-blooded conspiracy to destroy the 
reputation of one of the best and noblest men 
that this or any other county could boast. The 
order of things should be reversed. These con- 
spirators should be here on trial today in the 
place of Doctor Wilson. Thinking it unneces- 
sary to say more, I leave my client in your 
hands.” 

The District Attorney closed his case with 
a strong appeal, and Judge Stone delivered an 
able charge to the jury, finishing just at sun- 
down. 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE VERDICT 

The incidents of the trial were the topic of 
conversation in Meringo that evening, and until 
a late hour at night crowds gathered around 
to discuss the evidence. More than ever were 
people convinced that the prisoner was "‘more 
sinned against than sinning,’’ and that a clique 
formed of the worst element of the commun- 
ity were the authors of the crime. So intense 
was the interest and so confidently did they 
look for acquittal that the court-room was 
crowded at an early hour the next morning. 
Nor had the eager expectants long to wait. 
Only a few minutes elapsed after the formal 
opening of court before Judge Stone was in- 
formed that the jury had reached their verdict, 
and in a few moments they filed in, according 
to orders, and handed it to the clerk. The 
breathless suspense of that moment can best 


The Verdict 


133 


be imagined. A death-like stillness prevailed 
while the clerk read, with clear distinctness: 
“We, the jury, find the defendant Not Guilty.’' 

“Amen !” and “Amen !” echoed through the 
room. 

The prisoner arose and asked permission 
from the Court to speak a few words. After 
thanking the jury for their speedy vindication 
of him, and the Court for his kindness, he 
turned and faced the crowd. His voice was 
filled with emotion, and in spite of an effort to 
suppress it a slight tremor shook his frame. 

“Kind friends,” said he, “as I think many 
of you believe, I have been the victim of a foul 
plot. When the charge against me was first 
revealed my indignation knew no bounds ; my 
mortification was intense. My first impulse 
was to endeavor to have the case nolle prossed, 
but afterthought led me to the conclusion that 
the better course would be to prove my inno- 
cence according to law, to have the case thor- 
oughly ventilated, thus removing every vestige 
of doubt from the minds of the public. Now, 
I have nothing to conceal. My life is an open 
book which all may read. To those who have 
upheld me and manifested untiring interest in 
my case, God bless you all. And to my ene- 


134 


The Doctor and the Parson 


mies, my anger has softened. I bear you no 
malice. I pity you ; and may God forgive you 
is my prayer.’’ 

Doctor Wilson sank into his chair and bur- 
ied his face in his hands. Many eyes were 
filled with tears, and after the dismissal of 
court the Doctor was the recipient of numer- 
ous hearty handshakes and warm congratu- 
lations. Among the first to extend the right 
hand of fellowship was the little Prairie Par- 
son. 

‘Traise the Lord, my son !” said he, and his 
eyes filled with tears. Doctor Wilson felt that 
he owed him a debt of gratitude that he never 
could repay, and it may be remarked just here 
that so long as the good man lived he was 
liberally supplied with greenbacks from the 
Doctor. Not this alone, but Doctor Wilson’s 
implicit trust in Brother Kuchenbacher led him 
to seek something like companionship with 
him, and a thankful heart led to a fond attach- 
ment for the dear old man. His sermons, 
which before had been so boring, were now 
full of good things to the Doctor, and he ever 
afterward ‘‘held up the hands” of his minister. 
Doctor Wilson was a better man, “made per- 
fect through trial.” 


The Verdict 


135 


^^Come right home with us, Doctor,’’ said 
both Mr. Morton and his wife. At first he hes- 
itated, recalling the gossip and his wounded 
feelings of the past fortnight. But the be- 
seeching glance of Agnes overcame all resist- 
ance. 

After the excitement of the trial the released 
prisoner felt dazed. His old friends expressed 
in loving words their sympathy for him in all 
he had endured, and the gratification and joy 
they felt at his victory. Doctor Wilson was 
already censuring himself bitterly for having 
deprived himself of the comforting condolence 
they would have given him had it not been for 
the vain imaginings of a doubting heart. 
Never again would he listen to the tales of the 
idle gossip. 

Agnes was overjoyed, too greatly so to talk 
much on the way. After supper she and the 
Doctor were left to themselves through the 
kindness of Mrs. Morton, who, noticing that 
conversation lagged, laughingly remarked that 
^'engaged couples were worse than no company 
to any but each other,” and with Mr. Morton 
left the room. 

The silence of the first few seconds was al- 
most painful. Both were too full of emotion 


136 


The Doctor and the Parson 


to speak. Doctor Wilson, drawing his chair 
very near and just in front of Agnes, clasping 
his hands about his knees and bending in a sup- 
pliant attitude, asked imploringly: "‘And what 
is your verdict, my dear? Am I the same to 
you ? Do you love me still ?” 

“Oh, Doctor!’’ said she, “why do you ask 
this? You know that I knew you were inno- 
cent ; and you know I love you, too.” And she 
covered her eyes with her handkerchief. They 
wept together, each for what the other had 
endured. “Love is loveliest when embalmed 
in tears.” 

The handkerchief dropped, and that loveliest 
of all expressions to a lover’s eye, the one 
“ ’twixt a smile and a tear,” met the Doctor’s 
loving gaze. He adored her. 

The hours flew while they whispered their 
love to each other, and ere the parting hour the 
wedding day was set, and good old Brother 
Kuchenbacher was, of course, to have the 
honor of consummating the happy event. 
They both felt that the Doctor’s speedy release 
was due to the “providential” abstraction of 
the queer little man. 

A little more than two weeks and the wed- 
ding took place. Brother Kuchenbacher sug- 


The Verdict 


137 


gested, as usual, Friday, his favorite day, for 
performing hymeneal ceremonies, on account 
of the mournful significance of commemorat- 
ing the crucifixion, but the Doctor laughed and 
said he had experienced too much of trial al- 
ready to begin new life on so portentous a day. 
They compromised, however, by having it on 
the Sabbath, the day of the Resurrection, which 
pleased the old man equally well. After the 
queerest of ceremonies, the Prairie Parson 
said: ‘T now pronounce you man and wife. 
Praise the Lord!” 


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